Those Who Grieve
by The Lonely God With a Box
Summary: One sentence. That's all it takes to change the course of history, as Snape soon learns after an Occlemency lesson. 5th year AU. Abused!Harry. Mentor/guardian. No slash. M for graphic rape. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.
1. Prologue: Happy Birthday, Harry

**READ THIS FIRST - The warnings in the summary are not a joke. This is your last warning to turn back, or it's your own stupid fault. I'm sick and tired of reading flames and insults over it. ****_If you don't like it, FINE. Don't read it. No one is making your read it._**** It's rated M for a reason, and I've told you it's graphic rape. Consider yourself duly warned. And I have no intention about repeating this note.**

**Now, if you're going to be nice about this, here's the story.**

The Triwizard Tournament was over. Cedric was dead. And Harry was back at the Dursleys. Another school year accomplished. Another mission complete. And more people dead. Was this how his life was always going to go? Was he always going to be stuck in this hell hole he called home?

Harry had grown up a lot that year, he knew. You didn't watch a person die, and then get tortured in a graveyard by a madman without growing up some. Harry felt that something had happened that year, and there was no going back. It was like there was a new chapter of his life he was opening. The only part was that Harry didn't think it was going to be any better than the previous one.

In addition to simply feeling more grown up, Harry felt, well, old. Not just older, but old. He was tired of being hunted by Voldemort, and he was tired of having to chose between that or the Dursleys. He felt like he no longer belonged in his almost 15 year old body. Which, he was noticing, was quickly falling into disrepair. He wasn't eating like he should, and he wasn't sleeping well either. Ever since the final event, food had tasted like sawdust, and his sleep was littered with nightmares. At best, Harry could wake himself up from them, and at worst, he was trapped in his own personal hell with Cedric and Voldemort.

But Uncle Vernon - he was being different this year. And Harry wasn't sure why. His uncle was being, well, the best word to describe it, Harry decided, was _nice_. Uncle Vernon had told Aunt Petunia to "stop whining at Harry" at one point when she was upset about the state of her flowers. He hadn't called him "the boy" or "the freak." He'd called him Harry. And when he had missed a spot of fried-on grease when cleaning the kettles, and Aunt Petunia had aimed a frying pan at his head, Uncle Vernon had given his wife a withering look, usually one only used when Harry was being particularly inept, and told her that with actions like that, Harry would surely end up in the hospital with a bashed in skull.

"And would you care to explain that one to the nurses?" he had said.

And finally, when Harry had misread the recipe for supper, ("See, Snape?" he thought. "Potions isn't the only thing I misread directions on!"), and the dinner turned out particularly salty, and at Dudley's suggestion, Aunt Petunia had told him rather forcefully that he was only getting bread and water for supper that night, Uncle Vernon had once again come to his aid.

"Mistakes can happen to anyone, _dear_," he said. And he'd gotten his supper, much to Aunt Petunia and Dudley's frustration. Harry just wasn't sure what to make of the whole situation. Since _when _did Uncle Vernon _ever_ help him? It was just too weird for words. And he'd been home a couple of weeks already. Any novelty of having him back and good resolves to treat him better should have worn off by then, Harry thought. It just didn't make sense.

But maybe it had something to do with some other odd things Harry had noticed. It didn't take him two hours to notice that something was wrong between Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They never spoke to each other without snapping and using subtle (or sometimes not so subtle) insults. Even Dudley tried to keep his piggish head down when Uncle Vernon got home from work. So maybe he was the lucky victim of fate. Maybe Uncle Vernon figured that being nice to him would annoy his wife no end. Well, it was the first time that fate had smiled upon him, he figured. Unless you considered mysteriously surviving a killing curse thrown at you from a madman the effect of fate's smile. Harry personally thought that that incident had been caused by a grimace, because if fate had been kind, Voldemort would never have wanted to hunt him down.

Well, whatever the problem between his aunt and uncle was, it was serious enough that Aunt Petunia didn't want to be under the same roof with Uncle Vernon over the weekend. Come Friday, immediately after supper, every week without fail, she and Dudley would go to the other side of London to visit her cousin for the weekend, not returning till Monday at lunch time. Harry and Uncle Vernon never interacted much, even though Harry was beginning to think that they might be on better terms, and so he usually spent his weekends wandering in the park nearby, doing chores, or trying to find some sign of Voldemort in the Muggle news. Whatever Uncle Vernon did was his own business, Harry figured. They really only exchanged a few words at meals, and those were short and curt. Both seemed happy enough to ignore each other.

Well, at least that was what Harry thought. And Harry was happy enough to ignore Uncle Vernon. But, as Harry was soon to find out, Uncle Vernon was not happy to leave him alone.

The weekend was going pretty normally, with Harry having wandered in the park most of Saturday, coming back to fix meals, and then going to sleep. After showering the next morning, Harry walked down to the local Anglican church, and heard Mass. He'd picked up an interest in it when Remus Lupin had mentioned that his mother and father had been with the Church of England. Harry felt a certain connection to them through it. It was the church he had been baptized into. It was his godfather's church too. And now it was the church he attended. It wasn't like the Dursleys had ever bothered with religious education, though they too claimed to be Anglican. Harry personally thought it was more for show than for belief though.

He came home, and continued on in a normal Sunday routine, changing into a hoodie and jeans, fixing Uncle Vernon's brunch, and when he saw the thunderstorm outside, he spent the day reading in his room. Harry was frustrated with the weather, and with every crash of thunder, his annoyance increased. He wanted to be outside, burning off pent up energy. It made him feel less stressed, what with Voldemort and the Dursleys. Even though they weren't being horrible to him this summer, it was still stressful waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop.

Harry came downstairs and started to take out pans to cook supper. He tried to keep it quiet, but apparently it was still enough that Uncle Vernon heard, and came into the kitchen.

"Sorry," Harry hastily apologized.

"Don't bother with that," Uncle Vernon said with a casual wave of his hand.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"I'm ordering pizza," Uncle Vernon said, picking up the phone. Harry just blinked.

"Alright," he said after a moment, still not sure what to make of the situation. He finished the call and hung up the phone.

"You really shouldn't have to do all the work around here," Uncle Vernon said. "'All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy.'"

"Yes, sir." Generally, agreeing with whatever Uncle Vernon said was a wise thing, even if he had no idea what (or more accurately, why) Uncle Vernon was saying this.

"And you won't have any dishes to do after," Uncle Vernon continued, and he pulled out paper plates. Harry just nodded mutely. Yes, it was a small thing, a very small thing, to not have to cook supper, and to not have to do the dishes, but to Harry, coming from his uncle, it was major. His uncle was buying him pizza, and then saving him the problem (small though it was) of dishes. Harry's head was spinning with the thought of it all.

"Why, sir?" Harry finally asked.

"I want you to do some cleaning upstairs," his uncle replied. Ah, so there it was. Well, still, Harry was going to appreciate the pizza. And so the pizza arrived, and they ate in silence. After clearing away the paper plates and plastic silverware to the rubbish bin, Harry grabbed the dust rag, and bounded up the stairs. He certainly didn't mind cleaning a bit after having had as good a meal as that. He began to hum softly as he went into his uncle's bedroom and move the things on the top of the dresser so that he could dust under them.

He was happy. He was actually genuinely happy. And he was at the Dursleys. Harry was just astonished by everything. He couldn't help but feel slightly guilty though that he was happy and Cedric was dead. Well, that ended that momentary burst of happiness, Harry thought glumly. So lost in his own thoughts was he, that Harry didn't even here his uncle come into the room and close and lock the door. Harry turned to dust the headboard, and caught sight of his uncle. Harry jumped in surprise.

"Sorry," Harry said, figuring that he must have done something wrong if his uncle was watching him clean.

"You're doing just fine," Uncle Vernon said, with a small smile creeping onto his features.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. Uncle Vernon walked over closer to Harry. He stepped so close that Harry started to retreat, until he was in the corner. The way his uncle was looking at him - it just wasn't natural, Harry suddenly thought. Uncle Vernon's gaze bored into his soul. His uncle had never looked at him that way before. Seen through him as though he wasn't there? Yes, of course, all the time, but not like this! Harry's eyes were locked on his uncle's face, and suddenly, he felt very afraid. He dropped the dusting rag in his fear, though he didn't notice.

Uncle Vernon stepped close, and Harry felt his legs begin to sink as he slid down the wall, still wedged in the corner. He kept watching his uncle. Uncle Vernon laboriously knelt down in front of Harry, who had curled into a ball on the floor. Uncle Vernon reached out with one hand and ran his hand through Harry's black mop of hair. Harry shuddered at the touch.

Harry valued his purity - something he had picked up from his church - but that didn't mean his was ignorant. He lived in a dorm full of boys, after all, for nine months out of the year, most of whom couldn't have cared less about things like purity. He felt his stomach clench as he tried not to think about where this seemed to be going. It just couldn't be happening. He had been so happy just a few moments ago.

His uncle's hand came down over his ear, caressing as it went, and finally cupping Harry's jaw. Harry's skin crawled, but he didn't have anywhere to go. He was trapped. And he knew he'd walked right into it. He reached up and took Harry's glasses off, tossing them to the nightstand. Harry wished he was blinder than he really was. Even with myopic sight, he could see his uncle's face clearly. Abruptly, Uncle Vernon's hand left his jaw, and he began to lightly brush his fingers over Harry's forehead, with an emphasis, Harry noticed, on his lightning scar. The fingers wandered against his eyelashes, causing him to close his eyes in response. Then he felt Uncle Vernon's fingertips cross his eyelids, brush the side of his nose, and trace the outline of his mouth.

Harry wanted to vomit, he was so repulsed by the situation. He opened his eyes. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what was going to happen, but instinct told him to look. His uncle's fingertips slipped down to his throat, and caressed his Adam's apple. Harry's breath caught, and he noticed his heart rate had quickened.

Suddenly, Uncle Vernon backed away, and pulled at Harry's feet, causing his knees to come away from his chest. Harry was still in such shock that it didn't even occur to him to try to curl away again. Uncle Vernon quickly untied Harry's trainers, and pulled them off, along with the socks. Then, spreading his legs, his uncle scooted close again. But this time, his uncle reached for the hem of the hoodie, and stuck his hands under. Almost tickling Harry, his uncle ran his hands over Harry's rib cage, feeling each individual bone. He brought his hands up to Harry's throat, and pushed the shirt over Harry's head, gently pulling Harry's arms out as well.

Harry's mind was turning over and over, as his uncle continued his sick plan. His uncle. No, Harry couldn't face thinking of him as his uncle. Vernon. Just Vernon. It was easier if he didn't think of it as someone who was related to him. Didn't that actually make this incest? Harry thought. He tasted the bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat.

Vernon tossed the hoodie aside carelessly, and ran his eyes greedily over Harry's thin torso. He sucked in his breath in anticipation. Leaning forward, he touched Harry's shoulder, and brushed his fingers over Harry's clavicle, and down his sternum. He brought his other hand to the base of Harry's sternum, and forcefully pushed his fingers against the lowest ribs as his fingers found his way around Harry's middle. Vernon brought his hands up and the heels of his hands began to massage Harry's breasts. Harry gasped at the unexpected pressure.

"You like it?" Vernon whispered, smiling at him.

"No, sir," Harry managed to say, as Vernon's hands continued to work on him. "Please don't do this, sir. Please don't!"

"Just relax, Harry," Vernon said. "You'll enjoy it. Just give yourself over to it." Harry swallowed hard. He closed his eyes, resigned, and leaned his head against the wall with a dull thud. Harry felt Vernon's hands creep down over his ribs again, and they began to poke and prod at his stomach. Vernon brought his thumb over Harry's navel and began to press lightly.

"Why?" Harry asked quietly, his eyes still closed. Vernon leaned close, and put his mouth to Harry's ear. His hot breath tickled Harry's auricle.

"Does there have to be a reason, Harry?" he whispered.

"Why now?" Harry tried again, his voice weak.

"Because I want to see what it's like," Vernon replied. Harry cracked an eye open, questioning. "The things they sell at the adult shops, Harry," Vernon continued breathlessly, trying to explain. "I want to see if it's like everything they've promised."

"Pornography?" Harry questioned. "You're into pornography?"

"Adult entertainment," Vernon corrected. "Yes."

"When?"

"Ever since - well, ever since Petunia found 'a better man.' She stopped having sex with me, Harry. She has a lover, and I don't have anyone. I need _something_, can't you see? And at the adult shops, they have these films with boys your age, and they promise so much. I need to see if it's true."

"No, no," Harry protested weakly. "Please, don't. Can't you find a prostitute somewhere?"

"But a teenage prostitute?" Vernon said. "A young virgin?" Harry felt his breath hitch, as he knew he was doomed to whatever abuse Vernon wished to inflict on him. He was smaller in every way than the man that knelt over him. There was no way he could hope to escape. "For free?" Harry went silent, and shut his eyes again.

But he opened them wide when he felt Vernon's hands work their way down his abdomen, to the button of his trousers at his waist. For a moment, Vernon's hand reverently rested on the button. Then, almost ceremoniously, Vernon unbuttoned it, and undid the zipper in one fluid motion. Vernon's breathing began coming in ragged gasps, as he yanked Harry's trousers out from under him, and completely off, leaving him in a pair of over sized briefs. In order to jerk Harry's trousers off, Vernon had had to back off from his prey. He ran his eyes over Harry's legs. Vernon ran his hands over Harry's calf muscles, making Harry shudder, and then he began to work his way up past the back of Harry's knees. Bringing his hands around to the inside of Harry's thighs, just above the kneecap, Vernon pushed Harry's legs apart. Harry tried to offer some physical resistance, but it seemed like his body just wouldn't respond like he was commanding it.

Vernon began to feel the inside of Harry's thighs, but his eyes were not on his hands. He traced the edges of Harry's pants. Then he grabbed them on the outside near the bottom, and began to slowly pull. When the top of Harry's hips were revealed, Vernon paused. He reached out and ran his fingers over the bones. Vernon glanced at Harry's horrified face.

"Just give in," Vernon whispered seductively. He pulled at Harry's pants a little more, and a little more, until finally he couldn't stand it anymore and in one clean motion, Harry was stark naked in front of him. Harry put his hands over his face, trying to hide the shame he felt. He wanted to curl up, but Vernon was holding his ankles in place and he couldn't move.

Suddenly, the weight lifted from him. Harry brought his hands down to see what was happened. Vernon was stripping as fast as he could, and Harry covered his face again. Vernon's large hands reached under Harry's arms and brought him to his feet, with Harry still refusing to look upon his abuser.

"Take your hands away," Vernon ordered curtly. Harry complied, clasping his hands behind his back, and looked at the floor. "Look at me," Vernon said. So Harry looked up at his face. "_Look at me_," Vernon said again in a deathly whisper. He reached out and cupped the back of Harry's head, causing him to see the very thing he didn't want to. Harry trembled.

"Please, please, no," he begged, even though he knew it was useless. Vernon was hard with arousal, and he pressed on Harry's shoulders, causing Harry to fall to his knees. Vernon ran his fingers through Harry's hair, getting a good grip at the roots, as Harry looked at Vernon with unseeing eyes.

"Sheath your teeth," he ordered.

"What?" Harry asked, unsure what Vernon meant.

"Like this," Vernon said, and demonstrated how Harry should curl his lips around his teeth. "Or you'll scratch me." Harry made a face at Vernon, which indicated his desire to do just that. "Trust me, you won't want to try," Vernon continued, as he shook Harry's head, demonstrating to Harry the helplessness of his position. "Open up." Harry shook his head. "I said, open up!" Vernon shook Harry by the roots of his hair until he teeth rattled. He yanked on the thick hair. Harry let out a small cry of pain. Vernon took his opportunity and stuck himself into Harry's mouth.

Vernon pulled Harry close, and forced himself down the boy's throat, despite his gagging. Vernon moaned in pleasure.

"Suck, Harry, suck!" he breathlessly instructed, as he clamped his hand down forcefully into Harry's scalp, an unsaid warning. So Harry tried to comply. It brought more groans of pleasure from Vernon. An indistinct amount of time later, Vernon pushed his hips forward, and came into Harry's mouth. Immediately, Harry tried to back away and spit the semen out. Vernon let Harry back away, but he held Harry's mouth closed.

"Swallow it," he instructed. Finally Harry couldn't suppress the reaction anymore and he did. Vernon let go. Harry gasped, and watched Vernon's face, with large scared eyes. "Get up," Vernon said. Harry stumbled to his feet, shaking in fear. Quicker than Harry thought was possible, Vernon rushed on him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and slammed him on his back onto the bed. He brought Harry's legs onto the bed after him, and pressed his hips against Harry's. He laced his fingers with Harry's and placed them on either side of Harry's head. Vernon leaned forward, pressing his chest against Harry's.

Harry could feel the Vernon's feverish body against his own, pinning him so that could hardly move at all. Tears began to leak out of his eyes, as the initial shock of the situation began to leave. Vernon leaned close and ran his tongue experimentally over Harry's lips. Harry wordlessly whined a plea to stop, refusing to open his mouth.

"Relax, Harry," Vernon whispered, his lips just centimeters from Harry's. "It will be pleasurable, I promise. Just relax and enjoy it." Vernon pressed his open mouth against Harry's, and he worked Harry's mouth open with his lips and tongue. He ran his tongue around Harry's open mouth, over his teeth, against his cheeks, and ultimately engaging Harry's tongue. Vernon moaned into Harry's mouth, and Harry realized what an odd sensation, having someone else make noise into your mouth. Vernon changed the position of his head as he tried to get a better angle into Harry's mouth. Finally, Vernon's tongue receded from Harry's mouth.

"Did you enjoy it?" Vernon asked quietly.

"No, sir," Harry whispered. Tears continued to leak from his eyes. "Please." Harry knew Vernon knew what he was asking for, even if he didn't specify this time. Without releasing Harry's hands, Vernon wiped his tears away. He'd walked into this, Harry knew. Vernon had set a trap for him, and he hadn't seen it until it was too late. If only he had seen it sooner. If only he had seen, he wouldn't be here now, under Vernon's body, being violated.

Vernon let up on Harry, and pulled Harry into a sitting position with the use of their laced fingers. Harry came up like a limp rag doll, as he head lolled back. Vernon swung his leg off Harry. For a moment, Harry's eyes went to the door, but he saw it was locked. There was no way he could run. Even if he could move now, he was still just as trapped as ever.

"Kneel on the bed, Harry," Vernon said. Harry moved until he was in the ordered position, across from Vernon who was also kneeling. Quickly, Vernon dropped both of Harry's hands. He slapped one hand to the base of Harry's skull and brought Harry's lips to his own again. His other hand wandered down Harry's chest, to his stomach, and below.

"Touch me, Harry," Vernon moaned between the forced kissing. Harry tried to shake his head. Vernon's hand squeezed pointedly, making Harry yelp at the unexpected pain. Vernon chuckled.

"You bit me," he said. "Good boy." And he grabbed Harry's lip lightly between his teeth, pulling on it almost playfully. Harry began to squeak in fear as he tried to free his lip from Vernon's teeth. But at another sharp squeeze on Vernon's part, Harry remembered the order he had been given. Hesitantly, he moved his hand to Vernon's lower region.

Barely had Harry made contact, when Vernon let out a groan, releasing Harry's now bleeding lip.

"Oh, Harry," Vernon said, leaning against him for support, "Harry, Harry!" Harry pulled his hand away, eager to stop. "Don't stop!" Vernon brought Harry back into another passionate kiss.

Suddenly, Vernon broke the contact, and pushed Harry face down into the pillow, exposing Harry's backside. Vernon took his index finger and inserted it. He began to move it around, preparing Harry, who was biting the pillow, trying to repress screams.

"Oh, Harry," Vernon said in a bored tone, "be sensible. You can enjoy it." He inserted his middle, and finally his ring finger, as Harry continued to scream into the pillow. Once all was ready, Vernon, who was ready again, pushed himself into Harry. He was sure to do it slowly, savoring every moment. Once he was in, he began to thrust and pull. Finally, he hit Harry's prostate, and Harry arched his back suddenly, releasing the pillow, and began to gasp and moan.

"You're enjoying it?" Vernon said, leaning close to Harry's ear, but not easing up one bit. Suddenly, Harry was horrified to realize that at some level, he was enjoying it. Harry became acutely aware that his own body was acting independently of his will. Vernon's hand crept under him, and felt when he didn't answer. "So you _are_ enjoying it, my little whore," he whispered into Harry's ear. Lightly, he laid a kiss on his auricle. "You're hard," he observed. "Very hard."

"Please leave me alone!" Harry whimpered, conflicted between a desire to resist and another to simply give up and enjoy it as Vernon had suggested. He felt ashamed that he couldn't control his body. He felt betrayed when he came into Vernon's hand. Vernon chuckled. He let go of Harry, and began to run his hands up and down Harry's back. He moaned with each rhythmic thrust, and finally, as he was preparing to come himself, he bit down into Harry's shoulder. Harry screamed, both out of pain and pleasure, because Vernon had made sure that his final thrust was extremely well aimed.

Once the final crescendo had died, Vernon rolled the two of them on their sides, though he hadn't pulled out of Harry. Vernon wiggled the both of them under a light sheet and blanket. He held Harry close, and ran his finger through Harry's black mop of hair as he laid gentle kisses on Harry's shoulder and neck.

They lay there for time untold, until Harry heard the old grandfather clock downstairs announce the coming of a new day.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Vernon whispered.

Harry began to cry softly, his tears forming wet patches on the pillow.

* * *

**_Please don't flame me for making Harry a practicing Anglican. It's just how I've imagined this story. If it helps, I'm not Anglican. It is not a reflection of my religion._**

**_I just want to mention that college will be starting for me in a few days, and so I can't promise how fast I will update. All I can offer is that I will certainly try my best._**

**_As in my previous story, "Behind Closed Doors," I will do a system of house points. Based on the quality of the review, I will give house points. Simply pick a house you wish to support, and let me know which. At the end of the story, I will award a "House Cup."_**

**House points:**

Gryffindor: 0

Hufflepuff: 0

Ravenclaw: 0

Slytherin: 0


	2. The Slings and Arrows of Fortune

An owl swooped low in the Great Hall, and dropped a scroll in front of Harry's plate. It was still mostly full, with scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Harry picked up a piece of lightly buttered toast and nibbled at a corner of it, as he started at the rolled up parchment. Setting down his toast, Harry reached over, and broke the wax seal. Inside was a note from Dumbledore informing him that his next Occlemency lesson was to take place that evening.

The school year was well underway, and he'd already had several Occlemency lessons from hell. Harry got no rest, and his health was falling apart at the seams. He couldn't help but find it ironic that his potions abilities were improving as he found that he had to make himself various potions to avoid seeing Madame Pomfrey over his various issues. Malnutrition, insomnia, and depression, just to name a few.

His summer hadn't been any easier since that first night. Every weekend, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, Vernon demanded his personal whore's presence in his bedroom. Harry had no choice but to comply. He begged every time to be released, but Vernon never listened. He insisted that Harry should enjoy it. And Harry hated himself because at a purely animal level, he did. He hated himself, and he hated what he had been made to do that summer, over and over again. Not only that, but now every night he had some nightmare about it. Nightmares about Voldemort and Cedric seemed mild in comparison.

Even dreamless sleep didn't block out the nightmares. Usually if he took it, he could sleep with dreaming of Vernon, but then the graveyard would be what he would dream about instead. He had too many things to hide from, apparently, for even his strongest version of the potion to fully work. He cast silencing charms around his bed, so that Ron and the others wouldn't know of his nightmares. He knew he called out in his sleep, begging Vernon to leave him alone, crying at times as well. He couldn't bare the shame of his friends knowing.

He knew because when he would finally become tired enough to sleep despite being cradled in Vernon's arms, and he was reacting to a nightmare, Vernon would kiss him awake, and tell him that he was dreaming. No, Harry would silently tell himself, it had only been memories of reality, not a dream. It seemed that there was no way to escape.

Harry understood that the purpose of his Occlemency lessons was to block out his nightmares about Voldemort. He wanted to do that, yes, but more importantly he wanted to block out his nightmares of Vernon. In comparison, to him, Voldemort was the smaller of the two problems. All Voldemort wanted to do was kill him. He wished that Snape would teach him in a way he could understand, because he really did want to learn Occlemency. Harry knew he had a strong mind, because he had kept Snape out of his memories of his childhood and the summer. Now if only he could learn to apply it to his sleep, maybe he could finally find an escape.

He blinked back the beginnings of tears. He'd promised himself after that first night that he would never cry again, but he broke that promise with every incident and nightmare. He certainly wasn't going to break it now. He pinched the bridge of his nose and banished thoughts of the summer from his mind.

"Harry?" a voice broke through his thoughts.

"Yes, Hermione?" Harry replied, his voice even and interested.

"What's wrong?" She asked it like she wanted a real answer, here and now, over breakfast.

"Nothing," Harry said, sounding surprised and innocent.

"Don't tell me that!" she hissed at him. "Don't lie to me! Something's wrong, terribly wrong. You're still upset about - about last year?"

"Something like that," Harry shrugged. It was true, he was still upset about Cedric.

"You can always talk to Ron and me," she said softly. "We'll understand." Harry smiled at her.

"I appreciate that," he said, not insincerely. "But I think it's something I have to work through on my own. I hope you can respect that?"

"Of course," she said. "You just haven't hardly eaten at all this school year. I'm not sure how you haven't passed out yet."

"I'll try to do better at that, okay?" Maybe if he showed Hermione a sign of his good faith, she could leave him alone. He didn't want to face his friends with what had happened that summer. Who would respect him at all? The Boy-Who-Lived. A whore. A slut. Too weak to stand up to Vernon. To weak not to be used. Unable to control his own reactions.

"Okay," Hermione said and smiled slightly.

Harry got up after finishing his toast and took the note with him. He wanted to inform Dumbledore of his situation at home. But he hadn't been able to get an opportunity to tell him yet. The man wouldn't even look at him. And it hurt Harry like a sharp knife, because even though Harry knew better, it felt like Dumbledore didn't even want to soil his eyes on him anymore. But there was no way Dumbledore could know.

And Harry hadn't told anyone else. Absolutely no one. Not Ron, not Hermione, not even his confessor. Sure, the priest came around asking him if something was wrong when he stopped going to communion abruptly.

_"Harry," Vicar Donnall said one Sunday as he was trying to slip away quietly. Harry paused, but tried to slip away anyway. "Harry?" the vicar tried again, and Harry couldn't help but turn around and face him._

_"Yes, vicar?" he asked._

_"Is there something wrong?"_

_"No, sir! I mean, vicar, sir," he stammered, so nervous with the confrontation. He wanted his vicar to think well of him, and telling him what had been happening surely wasn't the way to do that. How could he tell the man that he had hated it and liked it both at the same time?_

_"Harry," the vicar said kindly, "it's alright. I know you come from a hard background. You're a good boy."_

_"Yes, vicar," Harry choked out, unable to meet his gaze.  
_

_"You know that I'm bound by the seal of confession if you ever want to talk about anything," the vicar continued._

_"I know that, yes. I don't want to talk about anything."_

_"Alright, Harry. That's fine. Have a good day."_

_"Thank you, vicar, you too."_

Harry still came to Mass every Sunday, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to go to communion. He'd been taught by the vicar when taking instruction that receiving was inviting Christ into his body. His body was supposed to be a temple of the Holy Spirit. How could he justify inviting his creator into a temple that had been desecrated to that degree?

Harry worked through the rest of the day, trying to keep his mind from wandering in the memories of the summer. It was a difficult task, he found, because it was all he could see when he closed his eyes. And sometimes, nightmares become daymares. Finally, after a grueling day of classwork, Harry found himself walking down to Snape's office for his Occlemency lesson. It was torture, yes, but at least the man hated him. It was easier than the summer. He knocked on the door. Snape opened it, and sneered at him.

"Late again."

"Yes, sir, sorry," Harry muttered. It all depended on which clock you read whether he was late or not. Even wizard clocks didn't all agree. They began the lesson, with Harry trying to occlude and Snape breaking into his mind.

"Why can't you do anything well, Potter?" Snape hissed at him.

"I don't know, sir!" Harry shouted back at him.

"Maybe if you had been properly disciplined, you would be able to do it," he sneered. "Legillimens!"

* * *

The scenes that assaulted Severus' mind were astounding, he thought. Severus began to wander in Harry's thoughts and memories. He had never seen these before. That in itself proved to him that Harry was, in fact, capable of Occlemency.

_It was clearly the summer after Harry's first year. He'd gotten to the Dursleys and was pointing his wand at Dudley._

_"Abracadabra!" Harry said as he waved his wand. Obviously, nothing happened. But Dudley began to cry, and say that Harry had done something to his mind. Severus wasn't sure what Dudley was claiming, and he wasn't sure that anyone else could be sure either. But he ran to his mother, who cradled him in her apron, rebuking Harry. __Severus noted, he wasn't defending himself, though n__othing she said seemed to faze him, until she got to the part about telling his uncle._

_"Please don't do that!" Harry said, paling considerably. "I was only joking with Dudley! It wasn't serious!" Then the memory skipped to where Harry stood with his uncle laying a belt on his back. Harry was wincing, but Severus knew from personal experience that it hurt more than Harry was letting on. All for saying Abracadabra? Well, sure, Severus knew that it was an ancient Muggle corruption of the killing curse, Avada Kadavra, but Harry didn't know that, and neither did the Dursleys, he was sure._

_Severus saw a number of memories which were simply fragments. Harry dropping a dish and Petunia pushing him into the shards, cutting his hands as he fell. The owl screeching in the middle of the night, and Harry having to stay awake the rest of that night and the following night, to teach him the value of sleep. And generally, there were just feelings which Severus could sense which were much too familiar for his comfort._

Severus pulled out from Harry's mind. He looked at Harry curiously for a moment, but it was very passing, and Harry missed it.

"Get out," he hissed. "You're as inept as ever. Go!"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, grabbing his bag and hurrying out.

Severus didn't know what to do, which was why he sent Harry away in his usual brisk manner. He didn't like what he'd seen, what he'd felt, and he wasn't about to stand by and let abuse happen. Not even to the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Him. He braced himself against his desk and sighed.

One sentence. That had been all it had taken to bring those memories of "discipline" to Harry's mind. And then his assault on Harry's mind had broken into what was on the surface. He needed to do something about this.

Well, he could wait a bit, he figured. It wasn't like the brat was going back to his relatives for awhile yet. No matter what was wrong, he was out of danger at the moment.

* * *

Another Occlemency lesson came, and Snape seemed to have it in for him, Harry thought miserably. This lesson seemed worse than normal, with Snape sneering at him and deriding him more than usual. Harry wasn't sure what he'd done to earn his professor's ire this time, but then, when did he ever have to do anything?

"If your relatives hadn't treated you like a spoiled brat, this wouldn't be so hard on both of us!" Snape hissed at him, and then legillimized him with a brutal force, breaking down his defenses in a moment.

* * *

_Severus wandered in memories again, just like he had planned it. In addition to the same memories as the week before, he saw fragments of other beatings, lack of food, and a cupboard. Severus remembered the address on Harry's Howarts letter, and then it made sense. So apparently Petunia hadn't changed at all over the past years. He saw Harry crying, alone and forgotten, both in his cupboard and in a room with bars on the window. Even the Potter brat couldn't be **that** bad, Severus realized._

"Leave," he snapped. "I don't even know why you come here!"

"I don't either," Potter said under his breath, but he let it pass.

He needed to get guardianship over Potter. It was the surest way of guarding him against abuse. He could watch over Potter well enough, he figured. It would certainly make things awkward with the Dark Lord, but well, perhaps it was just something he could hide like he hid so much. He would definitely have a talk with Dumbledore about this.

* * *

"Albus," he said, after the old man told him to come in.

"Ah, Severus," he replied. "Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," he said. "It's about Potter."

"I should have guessed," Albus chuckled. "How did he fare tonight?"

"Abysmal, as always," Severus drawled. "But his performance in Occlemency is not why I'm here. I have reason to believe that his relatives aren't treating him properly. That they are, for lack of a better word, abusing him."

"Really, Severus?" Albus said, curious. "Why do you think this?"

"Because I saw memories when I attacked his mind tonight, and a week ago, where his uncle was beating him with a belt," Severus sighed, "for saying 'Abracadabra.' I saw him being kept in a cupboard, while they were denying him food."

"When was this?" Albus said, the usual twinkle gone from his eyes, replaced by grave seriousness.

"The beating was the summer after his first year, and the cupboard was before Hogwarts," Severus replied.

"Did you see anything from this past summer?" Albus asked.

"No, I didn't, Albus."

"Then, perhaps," Albus said hopefully, "it's stopped? Perhaps Voldemort's return has brought them around to the seriousness of the situation?"

"Don't say his name, Albus!" Severus hissed, clutching his left arm. "You know what it does!"

"I'm sorry, Severus," Albus said. "I forgot." Severus made a face at him.

"Of course you would," he sneered. "It doesn't send agony up your arm when you hear the name."

"So I propose that you speak to Harry about what you saw, Severus, and see what he has to say about it."

"No, Albus," Severus said. "I can't do that. I've already broken into his private business too far. I refuse to do more. All I wish to do is to become the Potter brat's guardian. I can stay distant from him, but see that he receives some proper discipline for apparently the first time in his life."

"And your version of proper discipline?"

"Not abuse," Severus hissed. "Don't you dare think that I would to anyone in my care."

"You do to your students in class enough," Albus pointed out. Severus hissed in response. It was true, and he didn't have a good excuse. Turning around and blaming them for being dunderheads certainly wasn't mature, and it definitely wasn't an excuse.

"Fine," he said after a moment. "But I won't to Potter, not now, I swear."

"What about the wards, Severus?" Albus said. "He needs the protection of blood."

"A blood adoption," Severus said after a moment's pause. "His mother's sacrifice will not be forgotten that way," Severus continued. "If we go through with a blood adoption, I will then become a blood relative. That is all the wards need, correct? A blood relative? Petunia may be related directly to Lily, and strengthen the wards that way, but I am a wizard, and I can strengthen them other ways too. After all is said and done, the wards will be the same strength, if not stronger. Will that satisfy you?"

"It will," Albus said. "If this is truly what you want, Severus."

"It is."

"You don't have to, you know. I'm sure someone else would be willing enough to take him in, if you're as sure as you are that his home condition is unacceptable."

"I am, and no, I won't let you choose his next caretaker," Severus said. "If you want a job done right, do it yourself."

"Then we can begin on the paperwork, I suppose," Albus said. "Consent from the Dursleys will not be required. I can over rule any objections they may have. They will simply receive an owl when it is complete."

"That is acceptable, Albus," Severus said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Severus," he said. "Will you be telling Harry?"

"No," Severus said. "Not until the ceremony. I'm not sure that the news of being placed in my care will be any easier on him than his relatives."

"I'm truly sorry if I ever placed Harry in danger." Severus nodded, and left the office.

* * *

"No, no, no," Harry whispered, pale and panicked as he read a letter that had been dropped in front of his breakfast a few days before Christmas. "No, no!"

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron said, trying to get a glance at Harry's letter.

"Nothing!" Harry said, crumpling the paper.

"Aw, common, Harry," Ron said. "You look like you just saw Nearly Headless Nick become totally headless. What's up?"

"My relatives want me back for the holidays," Harry gave in, as he covered his face with his hands, dropping the paper on his half empty plate.

"Why?" Ron asked. "They've never wanted you before."

"Thanks," Harry said sarcastically.

"But why?" Ron pushed.

"I - I don't know," Harry stammered. "But it can't be good," he amended lamely. Ron nodded, confused.

"You can talk to Dumbledore," Ron suggested.

"Yeah," Harry said thoughtfully. "I think I will. Thanks." He smiled wanly at his friend.

* * *

"Professor?" Harry said after Transfiguration the next day. "I need to speak with Dumbledore. It's urgent."

"He's a busy man, Harry," McGonagall said. "What is it?"

"It's about the Christmas holidays," Harry tried to explain. "The Dursleys want me back for some reason," he shrugged ignorantly, "and I'd rather stay here." McGonagall raised a eyebrow.

"I see," she said. "I'm sure the Headmaster can take a few moments to deal with this." Minerva remembered warning Dumbledore years ago that the Dursleys were the worst kind of Muggles. And Harry was very intent on not going back if he was ready to talk to Dumbledore about this. Minerva suspected that Harry knew more than he was telling her, but she wanted him to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays as well, or perhaps spend it with the Weasleys.

After saying the password, "butterscotch chips," and watching the gargoyles jump away, Minerva let Harry go up the stairs alone to speak with Dumbledore. Harry was nervous, but he continued up the stairs as confidently as he could.

Thank God there wasn't anything incriminating in the letter. Just a simple line saying that they expected him back for Christmas. He could show it to Dumbledore without having to explain anything. He knocked on the Headmaster's door.

"Come in!" he heard Dumbledore call. Harry cautiously opened the door, slipped in, and closed it behind him.

"Harry!" Dumbledore said, but he remained looking at the papers on his desk.

"Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, but his voice nearly as steady as he would have liked. "It's about the Christmas holidays, sir. My relatives want me back, and I was hoping you would be able to tell them no. I'd rather stay here." He laid the Dursley's letter on Dumbledore's desk. He took it and read it over.

"Why don't you want to go back?" Dumbledore said.

"Because - " Harry began, groping for an excuse, "because I'd rather stay here, sir. It's just noisier with them."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "Well, Harry," he sighed. "I would love to say that you can stay here for Christmas. But unless I have a specific and immediate reason why shouldn't go back there, they are your guardians, and I must respect the request. Is there any other reason you would like to tell me now?" Harry hesitated for a moment. All he would have to do is say it. Vernon rapes me! His mind was screaming it, but the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. Even now, Dumbledore wasn't looking at him. And it hurt. "Anything at all?" Harry tried to make his mouth say what he was thinking, but no sound came out.

"No, sir," he finally said, sighing. "Thank you, sir." Harry grabbed the note from Dumbledore's desk, and turned.

"If you want to bring a reason to me later, that is fine too," Dumbledore offered.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "Good day." Harry slipped out of Dumbledore's office, silently, and went to his dorms, where he sat on his bed with the curtains drawn. He cast a silencing charm, and began to cry silently into his hands, despite his promise never to cry again.

* * *

The Christmas holidays were upon them, and Harry waited at Platform 9 to be picked up that Friday evening. He sat on his trunk, chin in his hands as his heart thumped in his ears. He could run away. He could take off right now. Take off and never come back. But if he did that, now, the Dursleys would likely get the police to look for a runaway child. He began to hyperventilate, but he consciously slowed his breathing. As tempting as running away sounded, he didn't really believe it would fix any of his problems. It would only make them worse.

But couldn't Vernon be arrested for what he was doing? Harry knew there were laws against it, but he'd also heard too many stories of no one helping when abuse was reported. If Vernon denied it, it would just be his word against Vernon's. And he knew that his relatives had done a good job of telling everyone in the neighborhood that he was a nut job. So if the social worker tried to talk to anyone else about it, that would be what she would get. And his last situation would be worse than the first. Harry ruled out going to the authorities.

He shivered and pulled his coat closer as the winter winds picked up. In a moment, a car drove up, and he recognized Vernon in the front seat.

"Hello, Harry," he said. "Did you have a good semester?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, looking at the cement as he dragged his trunk to the boot of the car. Once he was backed, he got into the front seat where Vernon was directing him. Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Vernon's gaze, the hungry one that he knew was observing him. He'd been away for months, and Vernon had already said he wouldn't use a prostitute. No, he wanted his own personal one instead.

Harry stiffened as Vernon's hand came into his view. The hand crept across his lap and began to feel him. He gasped, but didn't say anything. As Vernon's hand continued to massage him, Vernon chuckled.

"Good, eh?" he said. Harry didn't respond. He tried to distance his mind from what was happening, in the front seat of a car for crying out loud, and stare out the window instead. But Vernon pinched him, and he jumped.

"No, sir," Harry said quietly. "Please don't," he begged hopelessly. "If you ever cared about me at all, please just let me go back to Hogwarts."

"But you're aroused, Harry," Vernon said. "I can tell."

"Of course I am!" Harry said, suddenly shouting, and glaring at him. "But it's not my choice! Can't you see that? I don't want you to! I don't want to be your personal little whore!" He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to get his emotions back under control. He felt like he was going to cry again, but he just couldn't, wouldn't. Vernon looked at him curiously.

"Harry," he finally said, very gently. Vernon gave him one final pat, and put the car in drive. They were perfectly silent the whole ride back to Private Drive. Harry got his trunk from the boot of the car, and brought it into his bedroom. Vernon was watching his every move like a hawk. It was making Harry nervous, having Vernon stare at him like that. Harry got the distinct feeling that Vernon was undressing him with his eyes. Harry's cheeks flushed even though he was fully clothed.

* * *

"You _what?_" Snape screamed at Dumbledore.

"I had to, Severus!" Dumbledore said. "His relatives said they wanted him back for the holidays, and your paperwork isn't done yet! Look, it's only for a little better than a week. Be reasonable. Nothing that bad is going to happen to him in a week."

* * *

Vernon called Harry out of his room, once he had unpacked his things. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were gone as always, since it was a Friday evening. Harry had hoped that maybe they would have hung around since it was so close to Christmas. But no, Vernon would likely have seen to it that they left. Harry wore a t shirt and jeans, since they took less room to pack than anything else he had chosen to leave at Hogwarts.

Vernon sat on the couch, and Harry felt some vague hope that maybe his outburst in the car had meant something. At least Vernon wasn't shooing him into the bedroom.

"Yes, sir?" he said, nervously biting his lip as he prayed to be spared that night.

"Come sit over here," he said. Harry swallowed, and complied, perching himself on the edge of the couch, as far away from Vernon as he could. He waited for Vernon to do something. Vernon picked up the television remote, and turned it on. Harry immediately looked away, blushing deeply.

It was one of Vernon's often mentioned porn videos. Harry had never seen them before, and he had no intention of seeing it now. As the video progressed, and Harry still didn't watch, he began to blush deeper and deeper at the sounds assaulting his ears. He squirmed uncomfortably. The video drew to a close, and Harry was still blushing. Vernon grabbed Harry by his much too thin wrist and pulled him closer.

"Harry," Vernon breathed on him, "you're so beautiful when you blush like that." Without meaning to, Harry blushed deeper. Vernon began to trace Harry's lips with his index finger, as he draped an arm over Harry's shoulders. Vernons fingers wandered over Harry until he began to grope the boy again.

"Did you mean what you said in the car? That you didn't want me to do this?" Vernon said.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, even as Vernon's hand sent waves of pleasure to his brain. Then Vernon grabbed him fiercely and Harry bit back a cry of agony as he collapsed into Vernon's arms.

"Did you mean it?" Vernon asked again. Harry breathed heavily, trying to think through the pain.

"Yes - " he began, but Vernon squeezed harder. "I mean, no, sir," Harry amended. Vernon's hand eased and resumed caressing him.

"So you want me to do this? Think about your answer."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, as he began to cry softly.

"Say it," Vernon said.

"I want you to touch me," Harry said, his voice hollow.

"Then let's go to a more appropriate setting," Vernon whispered in his ear. Vernon led the way to his bedroom, with Harry trailing behind, hopelessly. Vernon let Harry go in first, and then followed, closing and locking the door behind them. How often had Harry heard the click of that door and despair washed over him? He felt it once more. He wanted to collapse on the floor.

"Get on the bed," Vernon said, pulling his own clothes off. Harry sat on the bed, and swung his legs up, laying on his back, as he knew Vernon wanted. He tried to shut his mind off, block out reality, like Snape had taught him, but it never worked. Harry studied a spot of dirt on the ceiling. Then he felt the bed sag as Vernon knelt over him.

Gently, Vernon began to disrobe him, tossing the articles of clothing aside. Vernon began to run his hands up and down Harry's chest passionately. He rubbed his hips against Harry's, and moaned.

"It's been so long, Harry," Vernon said. "So long." Harry nodded, his eyes tightly closed. Abruptly, Vernon stopped, and reached down to Harry.

"Did you miss it?" he prompted.

"Yes, sir," he whispered, the words bitter in his mouth. They were a lie. A bold faced lie, but he couldn't face the pain that Vernon would otherwise inflict on him. Vernon would take him anyway, Harry knew. He was only saving himself some pain along the way. But was he really? He didn't know because it hurt to say these things too. Harry wasn't sure which hurt more. Vernon began to rub again, and leaned over to kiss Harry as he stimulated Harry's chest.

"Mmm," Vernon moaned into Harry's mouth. "I'd forgotten just how...good...you tasted." He continued to kiss Harry, sucking and biting at his lips, running his tongue around in Harry's mouth. Vernon's hands wandered around to Harry's back, and began to creep lower. They began to explore Harry's backside, and Harry yelped into Vernon's mouth. Vernon laughed, and continued to cause Harry to moan and whine in pain and pleasure.

"Put your legs around me," Vernon instructed. Harry slipped his legs around Vernon's waist, and pulled his body close. Vernon began to insert himself into Harry. He moved around inside Harry until he elicited the desired gasp of pleasure. He began to knead Harry into further arousal. Harry was panting and sweating, ashamed and embarrassed as he clung to Vernon.

"Please, please," he begged. Vernon slammed into him hard, and caused a scream of pleasure to erupt from Harry's mouth. Tears began to leak from Harry's eyes again, and even Harry himself wasn't sure whether they were from shame or pleasure. Perhaps both.

"Please," he offered one more time.

"My little slut," Vernon whispered, "begging for more. My own personal little whore." He said the words fondly. Slamming into him again, Harry arched his back, and opened his mouth in a soundless scream.

"I'm not yours," Harry gasped between prods from Vernon.

"Oh?" Vernon said. "There's someone else? Someone at school?"

"No!" Harry gasped again.

"Then you're mine," Vernon whispered, as he watched Harry fight the pleasure in his middle at the same time as he fought the assault on his mind. "You were mine from the moment I filled you and you screamed." Harry was panting hard. As if for effect, Vernon filled him at that moment, and Harry came as well, as he went limp in Vernon's arms.

"That was beautiful, Harry," Vernon said as he pulled out. He rolled over, leaving Harry sitting on top of him. He took Harry's hands and place them on his chest. "Touch me," he said, and sighed as Harry went to work. He began to stroke Harry, who squirmed uncomfortably.

No matter how often Vernon made him go through this, it never became any easier, Harry realized. After a few minutes, Vernon threw him off, and pulled him close under the blankets for the night, being sure, Harry noticed, to entangle their lower regions.

* * *

_**If you're going to flame my story, fine. You're not going to change my mind, and it's totally pointless, but go ahead. But at least be honorable enough to sign in so I can reply to you! :P**_

**House** **points:**

Ravenclaw: 60

Slytherin: 55

Hufflepuff: 15

Gryffindor: 10


	3. Those Who Grieve Will Find Each Other

Severus watched Potter the first day back from Christmas break. The boy looked sick, he noticed. He had an ashen look about him, he was jumpy, and clearly there was something seriously wrong. Whatever had transpired at his relatives house over Christmas clearly had taken a toll on him. He might hate the boy, and he might detest the idea of adopting him, but he still didn't like to see anyone in that state. There wasn't much Dumbledore could have done to deny the brat's relatives' wishes, Severus knew, but saying he thought it most unfortunate that Potter had to would be an understatement. Even if he hated the boy, he tried to have some compassion, though he tried to tell himself that he was only doing this for the cause, because he had to protect Potter to protect the world.

Finally, the paperwork had been completed. The infernal adoption was scheduled for that night, and Dumbledore had sent the brat a note telling him to come to the Headmaster's office. Albus would be conducting the ceremony and Potter wouldn't know what was going on until he arrived, because Severus wanted to spare him as much anxiety over it as possible. By the time he figured out what was going on, the ceremony would be over, and the deal would be done. There was no undoing it. Severus silenced an annoying voice in the back of his mind that said it was a bit unfair to force this on the boy.

* * *

"Come in!" Dumbledore called at Harry's nervous knock. Harry stepped in, and saw Snape glowering at him, and Dumbledore smiling. Whatever this was about, Harry had a suspicion that it wasn't what he would call good.

"Yes, sir? You wanted to see me, sir?" Harry said, nervously glancing at Snape. Snape's gaze bored into him. Harry wondered if this was about his Occlemency performance. He knew he was terrible at it, but what else could he do?

"Yes, I did, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Or rather, Severus did. I think you'll have to explain it to him now, Severus." Definitely Occlemency.

"Why, thank you," Severus drawled sarcastically. "Potter. I'm adopting you, by a blood adoption. It's the only way you're going to be disciplined right apparently, since your relatives never did a good job. It will be the only way for you to ever have the slimmest hope of scraping by at Occlemency. The Headmaster approved this. You will continue to be called Harry Potter, even if your name legally will be Harry Snape. Do you understand?"

Harry's jaw worked up and down, but he couldn't make himself say anything. Adopted by Snape. His first thought was to jump up and down and even hug his potions professor. He wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys. Not ever. His second thought was that Snape was going to kill him.

"Yes, sir," he finally said, his voice void of any tone.

"Good," Snape said. "Then let us proceed with the ceremony." Dumbledore took out an ornate knife, decorated in rubies and emeralds, and handed it to Snape.

"Do you, Severus Tobias Snape, hereby take responsibility for Harry Potter as your own?"

"I do," Snape said.

"And do you consent to make Harry Potter your own, even in blood?"

"I do." Snape took the knife and cut the palm of his hand. He handed the knife back to Dumbledore, who passed it to Harry. Harry looked nervously at the two men.

"Do I have to?" he whispered.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Do you, Harry James Potter, consent to be adopted by Severus Snape, to be made his own, even in blood?"

"I do," Harry muttered. It wasn't that he wanted to be adopted by a dungeon bat, but Dumbledore told him he had to, and would dying at Snape's hands be any worse than what he currently had to face? Harry didn't think so. But Snape scared him horribly. He felt a rock in his stomach at the thought of being under Snape's care. It might be different than Vernon, and his mind knew it couldn't be worse, but he was scared more by Snape, even if that didn't really make sense.

"Cut your hand, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I can heal it immediately after." Harry did as he was told, and cut the palm of his hand, like Snape had done. Snape reached out and placed Harry's bleeding hand against his own. Dumbledore waved his wand with an incantation, and red and green ribbons wrapped around their wrists. Harry felt Snape's blood enter his cut, and his own enter Snape's. The ribbons bound their hands together with such force that Harry thought if they had tried, they would not have been able to pull apart. After a moment, the ribbons fell away.

"Congratulations, Severus Snape, you have a son," Dumbledore said. "And congratulations, Harry Snape, you have a father." Harry winced at his name. He hated it. It just didn't sound right. He held out his hand and Dumbledore healed it, then headed Snape's hand.

"I'll speak with you later, Mister," Snape paused, "Harry," he finally said, unsure of which last name he should use. "In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you try not to shame the name of Snape too much."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, his head down. Snape eyed him cruelly, and then left the room in his usual blustery way. Harry looked at Dumbledore, who was taking his seat behind his desk.

"Please forgive Professor Snape," Dumbledore said. "I'm sure the thought of him having a son is almost as strange for him as you having a father."

"Why did he want this?" Harry hissed.

"I believe that is his business to tell you," Dumbledore said.

"Then you admit there's more to this than Occlemency? Why did you approve this?" Harry pressed again.

"Because I agreed with Professor Snape," Dumbledore said, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"But he hates me!" Harry objected.

"Not nearly as much as you think," Dumbledore said.

"Why won't anyone tell me what's going on?" Harry screamed. Dumbledore took Harry's outburst in stride. But Harry continued, "Am I really worth that little, that no one tells me what's going on? Why can't I know, just a little bit? I'm pawned off to Snape, without a word of warning, and suddenly I'm his _son_, I'm not even allowed to keep my real father's name, and I don't know why!"

"Harry," Dumbledore said. "Some things need to be explained at the right time, by the right person. And right now, you have neither. Please, Harry, it's time for you to go."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, clearly still miffed. "You all think I'm a weapon in this war, and you forget that I have feelings too," he muttered quietly as he left.

* * *

Harry sorted through his stock of potions in his trunk and pulled out a vial of his strongest dreamless sleep. It was the only way he was going to be able to close his eyes that night, he knew. He hated turning to potions for survival, but that was what it was. Survival. He tipped the vial back and swallowed everything in it. Grimacing at the taste, he tossed the bottle back in the drawer, and began to crawl into bed.

"Hey, mate, what's up?" Ron said. Harry jumped clean over the bed and fell on the floor. "Whoa, sorry." Harry scrambled up and brushed himself off. He hadn't meant to react that violently to a simple greeting, but he was on edge from the adoption yet. He felt a strange tingling in blood stream, undoubtedly from the novelty of having Snape's blood in his veins. He wondered if Snape felt as strange as he did at the moment. It surely couldn't be any easier to have your most hated student's blood in you than to have your most hated professor's blood in you.

"Hi, Ron," he said, trying to grin sheepishly.

"Why are you so jumpy?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," Harry said casually.

"Yeah," Ron said, but his tone spoke the opposite of his words. "So what did Dumbledore want?"

"Just wanted to tell me how important it is to focus on Occlemency," Harry said, getting into bed and pulling the covers up. "Nothing major." He didn't want to admit to having been adopted by Snape. He knew Ron would understand, he knew that Ron wouldn't make fun of him, but he still felt like the choice of parent was because no one else would take him.

"You sure jumped like it was major," Ron observed.

"It's nothing, Ron!" Harry insisted. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

"Good night," Ron said, concern obvious in his voice. Harry closed the curtains, and cast the silencing charm. His last thought before the potion knocked him out was that he hated having to close Ron and Hermione out like that.

* * *

The next day, Harry worked through his classes on autopilot, just like he always did. He forced himself to eat for Hermione's sake, just like he always did. But after school was out, rather than hiding away in the dorm room, or the common room, just like he always did, he went outside to a large rock near the lake. The weather was unseasonably warm. Harry found it quite comfortable, especially since it was sunny, and the rock was warm. He stared off into the lake.

He was legally Harry Snape now. He grimaced at the thought. No amount of saying it was going to get him used to it. He was Harry Potter, and he would always be Harry Potter. Snape might be able to adopt him, and make him sign his documents "Harry Snape," but it didn't mean he stopped being Harry Potter.

Snape was going to kill him, Harry just knew it. Even if he was a spy for the Light, they still hated each other, and Harry didn't see how this was going to work at all. He was glad to be away from Vernon, very glad, but it didn't make his terror of Snape any less. Harry doubted that Snape was a pervert, but that didn't mean he wasn't sadistic. He began ticking off every possible punishment he could think of.

But all that time, he couldn't stop the panicked mantra of "I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm so dead," from repeating in his mind. The more he dwelled on it, the more frantic he became. He felt rolling waves of panic sweep over his mind, the dark shroud of despair, and finally, the warm blanket of exhaustion.

* * *

"Oh, crap," Harry muttered as his eyes flew open. The world had gotten dark as he had slept. He'd slept peacefully for the first time in so long that Harry couldn't remember. No dreams at all. And no potion. Harry felt much refreshed for the snooze, but his mind was still panicking. "Oh, crap! I'm so dead!" He bit his lip and slipped off the rock. Staying out after curfew was specifically forbidden, and he hadn't been in Snape's care for more than twenty-four hours before he royally goofed. Well, delaying it any longer wasn't going to help. He was in such trouble that night and he knew it. Snape would surely have his hide for this.

He walked back to the castle and let himself in. Perhaps no one had noticed he was missing. Perhaps -

"MISTER HARRY POTTER!" McGonagall screeched. Well, so much for that idea.

"Yes, ma'am?" he said.

"Snape, Snape, it's Snape now," she rebuked herself quietly.

"You can call me Potter," Harry offered hopefully.

"Do you realize we've turned the castle upside down looking for you?"

"No, ma'am," Harry said. "Sorry."

"As well you should be," she glowered at him, and Harry made a mental note to never make his head of house mad at him like this again. "Go to Professor Snape's office, right now."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, as he walked down the hall to the much dreaded office. When he got there, he found the door unlocked, but Snape wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere to be seen. Harry looked around. The office held new terrors for him, now that suddenly Snape was his father. His father could do anything to him - his professor couldn't. Each and every shadow seemed to be ready to jump out at him and hurt him in some way. He kept glancing over his shoulder as though something was about to surprise him from behind.

He began to shake with fear, even though he was alone. He felt sick, because he knew Snape would take him apart. Well, there was only one option. He would have to take whatever Snape dealt him in stride. He quickly pulled off his shirt, and undid his belt. It was better to get the beating over with as soon as he could. He hoped - he so hoped - that Snape would be satisfied with beating him. He knew that at the hands of a wizard as capable as Snape, things could be a lot worse. He just hoped it wouldn't go there.

Whether Snape believed it or not, he did command Harry's respect, if for no other reason than Harry's fear. So Harry waited, shirtless, belt in hand, as he waited for Snape to return.

* * *

Severus was storming back to his office where he was going to meet the Boy-Who-Wished-He-Hadn't-Lived. At least, that was what Minerva had told Potter to do. Severus might not be fond of the boy, but he was worried about him, once they discovered he'd gone missing, though he kept telling himself that Potter was just sulking over the newest arrangements. Severus felt uncomfortable around Potter. He wasn't sure why, but something about Potter that had changed, and Severus felt uncomfortable around it, whatever it was. All he knew was that it was familiar, yet horrible. And his reaction to uncomfortable was to try to hurt whatever it was that made him that way. It was a simple fear reaction, he knew, to protect himself, but he had sworn not to hurt Potter not matter what. He burst into his office, glaring at him, cape billowing. He slammed the door behind him.

Potter stood contritely before him, quivering ever so slightly, shirtless, holding a belt. Severus could read the clear terror in Potter's eyes.

"Here, sir," Potter said, handing him the belt so quickly that he had to accept it. Harry went over to the wall, and braced himself against it, tightening every muscle. "I hope it's sufficient, sir," Potter continued, nervously stammering, "I didn't have a better one. If it's not suitable, you can use the buckle end. It hurts more."

Severus looked from the belt his hand to the boy braced against the wall, then back to the belt again. Did Potter really think he was going to beat him? Well, Severus supposed, Potter didn't know anything else, and he was the boy's most feared professor, now father. It wasn't like he had done much to inspire confidence in Potter. He'd done everything to make the boy believe that he was ruthless - which he certainly could be. Now Potter was expecting to be just as ruthless as he put on.

"Get over here, Potter," he growled. Cautiously, Potter left his position against the wall, and stood in front of him, clearly shaking in fear. Then the door burst open behind them with a loud bang.

* * *

"Severus Snape, what are you doing?" McGonagall shouted. Snape whirled at her, belt still in hand.

"I promise you, it's not what it looks like," he hissed. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to make sure that everything was alright," she said suspiciously. Even she could tell that her Gryffindor was cowering under Snape's merciless gaze. "Harry?" she asked. "Is everything alright?" Harry nodded, still speechless from fear. He didn't want to have to be rescued. He was the rescuer. He was the one supposed to save the wizarding world. How could he be expected to defeat Voldemort if he couldn't even save himself?

"Get out of here, woman," Snape growled.

"If I hear you've hurt him," she threatened, purposely leaving it dangling. Snape sneered at her. Then Minerva turned at left abruptly. Snape turned back to him, coiling the belt around his hand. Harry's eyes followed Snape's movements with ever increasing vigilance.

"What is it you expect me to do with this, Potter?" he said, emphasizing the use of his biological father's name. Potter wrung his hands, and muttered something as he looked at the ground. "Speak clearly!" Snape barked.

"I said, beat me!" Harry replied.

"And why would I beat you?" Snape pushed.

"Because I stayed out past curfew," Harry said, tossing some hair out of his eyes. Maybe it was defiant, but Harry felt he had to do something to keep the last shreds of dignity he had left.

"That's why I should punish you, but why would I beat you?"

"Because - because," Harry stammered, "because you hate me? Because you adopted me so that you could 'discipline me right'? You want to get back at me for something my father did, but I'm not my father." Harry paused for breath. "Either of them."

"Potter," Snape said in his long suffering way, "I am not going to beat you. That is precisely what I meant by proper discipline."

"Sir?" Harry questioned. Snape sighed.

"Were you aware that I saw memories of what your relatives did to you?" Snape asked. Harry paled, and took a couple steps back. Oh, this wasn't good, Harry thought. This really, really wasn't good.

"No, sir," he said. "What did you see?" He was very wary of Snape now. He didn't know what to expect.

"Put your shirt on," Snape said. Harry complied. "And here's your belt. I saw the cupboard, the beatings, and any other number of things." Harry nodded. At least he hadn't seen last summer!

"Yes, sir," Harry said, hanging his head. "I'm sorry, sir."

"For what?" Snape asked, not unkindly, curious. Harry winced anyway.

"For - for that," he said. "For making you adopt me. You didn't want to."

"I'll admit, the thought is rather repulsive," Snape said, "as I'm sure you agree, but there are worse things. Child abuse being one of them."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Why were you out past curfew?" Snape continued.

"I fell asleep, sir," Harry said. "I didn't do it on purpose." Like Snape would ever believe that.

"I see," Snape said. "Why did you fall asleep?"

"I was tired?"

"Why?"

"I haven't been sleeping well, okay?" Harry snapped. It came out sharper than he meant it. "Sorry," he muttered, guarding his eyes, and looking at the ground, only risking a glance up at Snape every few seconds. Only when he felt that it was safer to know Snape's expression than to keep the meek body language.

"Why haven't you been sleeping well?" Harry mumbled something. "Speak up!" Snape hissed impatiently.

"Nightmares," Harry repeated.

"Of?"

"Stuff. Really, it's nothing." Harry began to take a couple steps back. He was scared of the questions Snape was asking. Snape was getting too close to the truth, and Harry somehow knew that he wouldn't be able to lie to Snape. It wasn't because Snape could tell if he was lying. It was because he simply didn't feel he could lie to Snape. But he couldn't tell Snape either. "Please, just leave me alone."

* * *

He looked like he was bordering on a full nervous breakdown, Severus realized. Something was definitely more wrong with the boy than he had initially thought. Potter was hiding something from him, something serious. It didn't take an expert to see that Potter was starving himself over something too. One look at him prepared for the beating that would never come told him that.

"You need to tell me what's wrong!" he shouted.

"I can't, sir!" Potter said, finally breaking down to sobs. "I can't!" Potter covered his face with his hands.

"Tell me!" Severus tried again urgently. "You have to tell me!" Whatever it was, Severus wondered if perhaps it was beyond Potter's ability to speak of it. He would still try though.

"How? I can't!" Potter sobbed again.

"One sentence at a time," Severus said, calmer now, leaning against his desk. Scaring the boy further wasn't going to make it any easier to get answers. "Answer me one question at a time. Who is involved in this particular something?"

"Vernon and me," Potter said. He'd stopped crying, and taken his hands away from his face, but he was still looking at the ground. Potter was breathing raggedly and swallowing, trying to retain some sort of control over himself. Severus didn't expect Potter's weak grasp on control to last very long. He needed to get answers before Potter lost it for good.

"I see," Severus said. "Was it something he did to you?"

"Yes, sir," Potter said.

"What was it?" Severus notice Potter try to say it several times, but nothing came out. "Relax," he instructed, his voice taking on a deep, calm tone. "Breathe. Try to occlude. Just tell me."

"Rape," Potter finally said. Severus stood up immediately, clearly surprised. He didn't say anything for a moment.

"You? What? No," Severus finally stammered. Potter winced.

"I told you to leave me alone," he whispered.

"That's exactly the last thing you need!" Severus said, still alarmed. "How long?"

"The summer, and break," he shrugged. Severus nodded.

"Do you know why?"

"Yes, sir," Potter said. "Petunia has an affair, and won't sleep with Vernon. He turned to pornography, and then wanted to make it real. With me." Potter began to cry again, but it was just tears that silently ran down his cheeks, as he looked up at him. Potter was an image so pitiful that even Severus couldn't help noticing it. But what could he say to Potter?

"Pornography is a lie," Severus said quietly.

"I know," Potter said.

"Of course."

"You can go away now," Potter had the arrogance to say, though he didn't look arrogant as he said it. He looked like he actually expected him to go away, to leave him. "I know you don't want to deal with me, or this. I wouldn't blame you for giving me back to the Dursleys. Blood adoption might be permanent, but you can always back out. There's no rule saying that your son needs to live with you."

"I don't take my commitments that lightly, Potter," he said gently.

"I know," Potter said. "I release you from your commitment."

"I appreciate the gesture, Potter," Snape said sincerely, "but I did what I did with forethought, and I have no intention of taking you up on the offer."

"But there's no way you can understand. It's just not possible. You can't understand." Severus walked close to Potter, only a few feet away from him. Potter stood a full head shorter than he did, and it seemed like more, the way the boy was cowering still. Severus looked at him for a couple minutes, assessing the situation in silence. His eyes were cold, but his mind was working quickly.

"But I do, Harry," Severus finally said, taking that last step towards him, and bringing the crying child into an warm embrace. The boy began to cry into his robes, as Potter's arms reached around him, returning the gesture. "I do."

* * *

**House points:**

Slytherin: 230

Ravenclaw: 130

Gryffindor: 45

Hufflepuff: 15


	4. The Price of Servitude

As Potter's arms crept around him, Severus sighed softly. Potter was now sobbing freely, and Severus felt him take fistfuls of his robes as he clung for support. Severus could sense that Potter's knees were close to giving out. Severus simply stood there, letting Potter cry his soul out. He didn't do anything; he didn't need to do anything.

"How?" Potter finally asked, after he regained some self-control and pulled his face from Severus' robes.

"How what?" Severus relied, loosening his grip on the boy.

"How do you understand?" Severus froze, and didn't respond immediately.

"That," he finally said stiffly, "is a different story, for a different time."

"Sir," Potter said, now fully in control, and pulling away from him, with a slightly accusatory tone, "I forgot that I wasn't worth your time outside of your interest in the war. Forgive me." His tone was cold, and Potter spun away, stalking to the door, where he reached for the handle. Severus pulled his wand, and spelled the door locked before Potter could open it. He didn't want the boy leaving. Not like that.

"You will turn around and come back here, Mr. Potter," Severus said quietly, but his tone was commanding. After a moment, Potter complied. He faced Severus. His - son - then clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin, as he glared at Severus. The loathing was clear in his gaze, and Severus realized that this was simply the same look he had given the boy many a time. Severus realized, also, that Potter only returned the feelings that were presented to him. Severus had never given him and reason to feel any other way about him. The only logical feelings that he could have about his professor were loathing and hatred.

"I was under the impression you wanted me?" Potter said, disdain dripping from his voice. It was then Severus realized that they had been silent for several minutes.

"Yes, your impression was correct," he said. "At least that observation. And as much as it pains me to say it, you are worth my time outside of the war effort." Potter snorted indignantly. "And what do you mean by that?" Severus challenged. "You've no idea how much I've given up for you."

"If you thought I was worth your time, you wouldn't..." Potter stopped, groping for the right words. "You wouldn't be you," he finally finished.

"Oh?" Severus said, his metaphorical feathers ruffling. He figured it would be best to let Potter get away with impertinence now, simply because he needed to vent and speak freely for once. The relationship of teacher and student had been altered, down to the very genetic makeup of it, and so why shouldn't their behavior change too? It wasn't that Severus intended on letting disrespect be a theme in their relationship - quite the opposite - but rather, he needed to know what the boy was thinking, and a share of it couldn't be expressed respectfully.

"Yes," Potter said, crossing his arms, and glaring harder. "You wouldn't turn every potions class into a living hell, where you simply sit back and ridicule and mock everything I do, no matter how hard I try for you! You wouldn't try to put me down all the time! You would assign fair punishments, and not favor Malfoy all the time! You would have told me about the adoption!" By the end of his speech, Potter had his hands in fists at his sides. Tears of anger shown in his eyes. Severus was silent, waiting to see if he was finished. When no further accusations were forthcoming, he shifted his position so he was leaning against the desk again and sighed.

"You're right," Severus said.

"What?" Potter said, relaxing his fists.

"Close your mouth before insects find it a habitable place," he drawled. He snapped the jaw he hadn't realized had fallen closed. "I said, you're right. And before taking you on as my - son," he seemed to almost choke on the word, "I swore to Dumbledore that I would act in a more acceptable manner. The whole point was to get you out of an abusive situation, even if we apparently didn't know to what extent. Putting you into another would defeat the purpose."

"You promised to be nice to me?" Potter said, apparently appalled at the thought. Severus sneered at him.

"Hardly," he drawled. "I promised I wouldn't act in an - immature - manner. Don't go putting words in my mouth, boy!" Potter visibly winced at the form of address. Severus noticed, and filed it away to not use that word again. He wasn't about to apologize - his pride was still too important for that - but he did intend to keep his promise.

"Yes, sir," Potter muttered. There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Don't get the idea that I'm simply going to ignore you either," Severus continued. "I may not have any experience with raising children, but I know that ignoring them is not the preferred method. I expect a level of transparency. In other words, I expect you to be frank and honest with me, and I expect you to tell me when something is troubling you or if anything is wrong. I promise to never speak of anything said in confidence outside of these chambers. I wish to have at least one session with you once a week, to discuss your performance in school, and anything else that may come up, in addition to the standard Occlumency lessons. Of course, if you should ever need to speak to me, that is your prerogative. Is this clear?"

"Yes, sir," the boy said again, this time with more confidence. "But I presume this is only a one-way agreement?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, "that you expect me to be honest with you, and tell you what's on my mind, but you won't answer my questions."

"What questions are those?" It would prove to be a fatal question.

* * *

"You insist you can understand," Harry accused, feeling confused and conflicted. "But you won't tell me how. How? How can you? You can't! You're simply an old dungeon bat and you can't understand anything that's ever happened to anyone!" Harry clapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. He hadn't meant to say that. Pulling his hand away, he tried to amend what he had said. "Sorry, I mean, that's what it looks like you are," and then he descended into something of a panicked babble.

"Shut up," Snape said, annoyed to the limit. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry "shut up." Neither said anything.

"Sorry, sir," Harry muttered.

"Accepted," Snape returned. They fell into silence again. Harry glanced at Snape as he hung his head. He hated the quiet that had enveloped the room, but he didn't want to be the one to break it. Snape hadn't given him permission to leave, so he didn't dare turn away. "My business is my own," Snape finally said, glaring coldly at him. "How or why I can understand is something that doesn't concern you - simply that I can."

"So the transparency is one way," Harry muttered sullenly.

"You don't _want_ to know!" Snape hissed at him, pushing himself up from the desk and standing a few feet opposite him, fists clenched.

"No, don't tell me what I do and don't want to know," Harry said, gathering his Gryffindor courage. "_You_ don't want me to know."

"Fine," Snape agreed. "I don't. But I still expect you to tell me what goes through your, luckily, incredibly thick skull."

"Luckily?" Snape looked at him curiously, like he were an interesting bug.

"Any less thick of a skull would have been broken over the summer."

* * *

Harry was dismissed and went to his dormitory, where he sank gratefully onto his bed, forgetting to even change his clothes. Snape had kept him late, and everyone else was already sleeping.

"That you, Harry?" Ron muttered as he rolled over.

"Yeah," Harry returned tiredly. "It's me."

"You okay?"

"Of course I am."

"Why did you get sent to Snape?" Harry paused, unsure how to answer.

"I'm tired, Ron. Good night." There was another pause.

"Good night, Harry."

* * *

Next day, in Potions, Harry couldn't help but let his gaze follow Snape. Every so often, Snape would stop mid-sentence in his lecture and look at him, but Harry wondered if it was perhaps his imagination. Or maybe Snape had always done this, and he hadn't noticed. Harry was having difficulty concentrating, both from fatigue but also from curiosity. He wanted to know what Snape was hiding, but he could only come up with one idea. Variations on that idea, yes, but only one basic idea.

Harry would have pitied Snape, he thought, except that pity was the last thing he wanted. He felt that he should just let Snape keep his secrets, but he wanted to know if his hunch was right. He needed to know.

There it was again. This time Harry was sure he hadn't imagined it. Snape stumbled on his rehearsed lecture and looked at him. Harry returned this gaze, trying to send the impression that he was actually paying attention, though he was sure Snape knew he wasn't. But when Snape looked at him now, it wasn't with the typical hatred of years and lessons previous. But rather Snape looked at him with a similar curiosity to that which Harry currently looked at Snape.

* * *

That night was another Occlumency lesson. Harry wasn't sure whether to dread it or not. If Snape had promised to be civil to him, maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Under normal circumstances, Harry would have feared that Snape would jeer or mock him for his - well, weaknesses, - but he wasn't sure Snape could. Harry knocked on the door.

"Come in," Snape's voice said. He sounded annoyed, yes, but it wasn't like his usual annoyance. So Harry stepped in. Snape was sitting at his desk writing something.

"Sorry I'm late," he began, even though his watch showed three minutes early. Snape rolled his eyes dramatically.

"You're not, so stop apologizing," he drawled without looking up from his writing.

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"If your demonstrations in Potions are anything to go by, your concentration skills haven't improved any," Snape observed casually.

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, hanging his head. He'd better prepare for a whole lecture about how he needed to focus better on his school.

"You're distracted," Snape continued. Harry nodded. "What is distracting you?" So Harry could give the honest answer, or he could make something up. He was on the verge of explaining that Ron and Hermione were having a fight, when Snape looked up and made eye contact with him.

"You never explained," Harry suddenly accused. "How can I ever learn to trust you if you won't explain?"

"Explain what?" Snape sighed.

"Why - why you say you can understand," Harry stammered.

"Is it really that big a deal?" Snape said. "Maybe I'm just empathetic."

"Or maybe you're not," Harry said.

"Or maybe it's not appropriate for me to speak of it!" Snape burst out, bringing his hand down on his desk loudly. Harry jumped. He was just glad Snape hit the desk and not him. He needed to know how far he could push Snape.

"Or maybe you just won't," Harry said, "because you're ashamed of something. The same way I'm ashamed," he added. Snape sneered at him.

"As I have said before, you would do well to not worry yourself with those things which do not concern you." Snape picked up his quill and began to write again, signaling the finality of the conversation. But Harry wasn't going to take another no for an answer.

"But it does concern me!" Harry protested.

"How?" Snape demanded suddenly. "How does my life concern you?"

"Why does _my_ life concern _you_?" Harry returned.

"Because you're the Boy-Who-Lived," Snape said. "And because of the adoption." His voice dropped its volume a bit at the second reason.

"And do you remember at the - adoption," Harry spat the word, "that there were red and green ribbons that bound our hands?"

"I do believe I was conscious for this incident, yes," Snape said in an acerbic tone.

"The red ribbons symbolized your obligation to me," Harry said, "but the green symbolized my obligation to you. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Red and green. Whether you want it or not, you're stuck with me, and whether I want it or not, I'm stuck with you. As much as you maintain that you're the only one with an obligation here, it doesn't work that way." Harry looked thoughtful. "That's especially why not telling me was the worst thing you could do." Snape made a face at Harry.

"Get to the point," he snapped. Harry placed his hands on Snape's desk and leaned his face close to the dungeon bat's.

"If you expect to fill the position as my father, then you better allow me to fill the position as your son!" The two glared at each other.

"Are you threatening me, Potter?" he whispered, eyes narrowed at Harry.

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm threatening you by pointing out that you can't be my father - and I won't ever accept you as such - unless I also am your son."

"You don't even want to be my son," Snape said, almost sound hurt if it were possible, as he looked back over his papers.

"You might not be my first choice," Harry said rapidly, "but we're here, you are, and I am."

"Why are you so intent on this bond being more than what is strictly necessary?" Snape asked, sounding exasperated.

"I don't know!" Harry said, because he'd puzzled over the very same question. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that your blood runs through me and my blood runs through you."

"I see," Snape said. "As long as it wasn't only me."

"Sir?"

"As long as I wasn't the only one being affected by the blood adoption." Harry almost smiled.

"So does that mean that we're going to try?"

"I don't need you to look after me," Snape said. "I'm more than capable, thank you." Harry nodded and looked disappointed.

"Then I can take care of myself too." Harry's voice was hollow. "Shall we continue with Occlumency?" Snape rose and attacked Harry's mind, but Harry pushed back equally hard. It was the force of Harry's emotions that gave him strength against Snape. The exertion was so much that Harry fell against Snape. Snape caught him and supported him.

"Was it my father?" he asked weakly, still in Snape's arms.

"What nonsense are you babbling now?"

"Was it my father who did it to you?" Harry asked again, slightly stronger. "Or Sirius? Is that why you hate them so much?"

"Did what? Talk sense, Potter!" Snape almost shook Harry, but didn't, Harry felt, because of his word. Harry took a moment to be able to spit out the words.

"Did they - violate you?" His voice was not above a hoarse whisper.

"Did they - ? What? No!" Snape stammered. "They were jerks, yes, but not - not like that!" Harry saw his opportunity to press Snape further.

"Then who?"

"No one!"

"I'm not a fool! Despite what you may think!" Both were shouting at the other. "Father," Harry added quietly, for emphasis.

"You won't rest until I tell you," Snape observed.

"Exactly," Harry confirmed. "Who did it?"

"'Who does it?'" Snape corrected. "Not did - does." Snape glared at Harry, who looked horrified. Harry felt like he was going to choke on something. He'd only thought about something having happened to Snape in the past. How? How could it be a continuing thing for Snape? What would - what _could_ - make Snape suffer something like that?

"Then who does it?" Harry asked, still in shock. Snape looked at him long and hard, as if weighing the information.

"The Dark Lord, now go," he said all in one breath. "You have your information, now leave."

"Voldemort?" Harry asked, stunned, totally ignoring the instructions to leave. Snape hissed at him as he grabbed his left forearm.

"Don't use his name!" Snape growled. "Unless you wish to cause me pain."

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, sincere. "I - I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't." Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"The Dark Lord?" Harry amended.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?" Snape said, his voice almost breaking, Harry thought, as he still seemed in pain. Harry truly hadn't known that Voldemort's named would cause Snape pain like that. He would be careful to never say it around Snape again.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "But - why?"

"Why did your uncle - ?"

"Because, well because he didn't have anyone else, and I couldn't run away!"

"You've answered your own question," Snape said, his voice quiet, and the lingering signs of pain faded.

"But you - you don't _have _to be around him, do you?" Harry pressed.

"I'm sure you're already well acquainted with the fact that I am a spy," Snape drawled. "Name one other person who could carry intelligence from the Dark Lord to Dumbledore."

"There isn't one," Harry muttered, wincing.

"Exactly."

"Does Dumbledore know?"

"Of course," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't think I've begged to be released from this?"

"Then why doesn't he find another person? Create a new spy if necessary?"

"Because I am still the best choice, both for believability and Occlumency skills," Snape said, taking his seat again.

"And why don't you just quit? Dumbledore can't make you if you refuse!"

"This is true," Snape conceded. "But I can't refuse."

"Why not? _Why don't you just stop being a spy?_"

"Then who would protect you?" Snape's voice was deathly quiet, and he raised his eyes to look at Harry. The pain in them made Harry recoil suddenly.

"What?" he asked, his voice as flat as a board.

"Don't you understand, Potter?" Snape said, his voice suddenly tight with emotion. "Don't you understand?" He banged his hand on the desk for emphasis as he rose. "Someone needs to keep intelligence traveling between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, and I'm the only one who can! I do it to keep you safe. I loved your mother, and I swore to protect you. If this is how I need to protect you, then let it be." Harry heard Snape's voice from a few days ago echo in his mind. _"You've no idea how much I've given up for you."_

"You're right," Harry mumbled, "I had no idea. I'm sorry." He met Snape's eyes, and tried to communicate his sincerity.

"It's not your fault," Snape said, rolling his eyes. "It's no one's fault but the Dark Lord's."

"Yes, it is!" Harry shouted, bringing his fist down on the desk in emphasis. "It's the fault of anyone who knows and doesn't do anything about it. They're just as guilty as Vol - I mean, the Dark Lord!"

"No!" Snape shouted back at him. "It doesn't work that way. Even when Dumbledore has offered me a chance of escape, how can I, when there's no one else to fill my place? _How can I not spy when the Dark Lord will simply call me back?_"

"What do you mean?"

"When I joined the Death Eaters, I signed my fate," Snape said in a long suffering way. "The Dark Lord can summon me whenever he pleases - whether or not I spy at all. I may as well be summoned and spy rather than simply be summoned." Harry bit his lip and nodded. "Now go," Snape said weakly. He ran his hand over his face, as he leaned back in his chair. "Please, just go." Harry stepped around Snape's desk, and placed his hand gently on Snape's shoulder.

"When someone told you the very same thing, you said that was the last thing he needed," Harry said quietly. Snape sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly. He placed his hand over Harry's.

* * *

_**I'm so, so very sorry for not updating sooner! My work and school were literally keeping me busy from dawn till dusk. Now that I overworked myself and have mono (I think), I missed class and didn't go to work for the past couple days, which means I worked on this. No idea when the next update will be, due to school, work, and now sickness, but I promise I won't forget about you people and the story.**_

_**Don't forget to review!**_

**House Points:**

Slytherin: 495

Ravenclaw: 180

Gryffindor: 65

Hufflepuff: 20


	5. Payment of Debts

Severus cleaned up the papers on his desk. Potter had finally left, and he was ready to sleep. It didn't come out easy, his secrets. But Potter had a point, that the bond was a two way street. It had just never occurred to him that Potter would care. Perhaps the adoption had done something to how they felt about each other.

He grabbed a fistful of the papers and threw them into the fire. They were simply his thoughts after various events with the Dark Lord. Panic and drivel, but it helped him cope. He watched as the papers shriveled in the fire. Then he felt his left arm twinge. He folded his hands over his mouth. He couldn't, not now. How could he keep his Occlumency shields up now? He was much too vulnerable. His arm throbbed again.

"Coming, coming," Severus muttered. But he had to. Somehow he'd always survived, and he'd survive again now. Severus threw some floo powder into the fire, over the remnants of his papers, and flooed to the usual meeting place.

"You called, my lord?" Severus said, stepping out of the fireplace. It was the Dark Lord's personal manor. Calming his emotions, Severus put up his Occlumency shields.

"Yes, I did," Voldemort said. Severus glanced up at him. At least he had spelled away his noseless snake features, he thought. The man he saw was Tom Riddle, not the Voldemort that everyone had come to associate with the name.

"No, please don't, Tom," Severus breathed, as he shivered. He was still fearful. But the Dark Lord had instructed him to use his given name when he glamored himself. He glanced at Tom, and backed up a step. "You know I don't - " He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yet you come every time," Tom pointed out silkily as he approached the cowering Severus.

"Because you are my lord," Severus said. Tom stood only inches from him. They were the same height, but Severus' contrite posture made it look that Tom was taller. Tom reached out and ran his fingers through Severus' long black hair. "Please, no."

"Severus," Tom said. "When will you learn? I don't care what you want. Begging only increases my lust. Squirming only makes it more fun." Severus closed his eyes and grimaced. Tom threw him against the wall, and pressed his body close. Tom ran his tongue over his lips as he looked over Severus. Wordlessly, he began to undo each button of Severus' shirt. Tom almost purred in delight as he finally pushed the shirt from Severus' shoulders. Tom ran his hands over Severus' exposed chest, until he dropped his hands and undid the button on his trousers. When Tom was finished, both with Severus and himself, he turned Severus to face the wall.

"Mind if I just - Slyther in?" he chuckled. Severus dropped his gaze, unable to speak at all. Tom knew what this was, and he didn't care. All Severus could think about was screaming no. Perhaps it was his only defense against giving away secrets was his total opposition. Severus felt the familiar pain as Tom was true to his word. Tom gripped his hard by his hips, and they sank together to the ground, where Tom held him on top.

"Oh, Severus," Tom whispered. "Still as good as ever." He began to bite at Severus' ear. Severus sighed in resignation. This was how it always went. There was nothing he could do, but he would try anyway. He slammed his skull back against Tom's nose. He heard a satisfying crunch as it broke. There was a sputtering behind him. Tom whispered something incoherent, and suddenly Severus' hands were very literally tied behind his back.

"Please, no," Severus begged. He never begged, except when Tom tore away all shreds of dignity. Tom rolled over, slamming Severus' jaw into the hard stone floor. He tasted blood as he teeth tore his mouth. As Tom pressed Severus face against the floor, he hissed something in Parseltongue.

Nagini slithered out from a hiding place in the wall. She hissed something back at Tom, who responded in kind. She began to work her way around both of them, squeezing them tightly together, until Severus couldn't move. Actually, Tom couldn't move either, but he had control of Nagini.

"My lord," Severus choked out as Nagini forced air out of his lungs, "I can't breathe."

"Perhaps that's what my little wretch deserves," Tom whispered back. "You aren't exactly being cooperative." As if on cue, Severus felt blood drop on his neck. And it was the last thing he knew.

* * *

Severus woke with a start, as a cool cloth was laid on his forehead. Quickly, he reached out and grabbed the wrist holding the cloth. With unseeing eyes, he brought the person to his or her knees and the definitely male voice let out a cry of pain.

"Potter," Severus breathed, as he released the boy. "Why are you here?"

"To apologize," Potter said.

"For what?" Severus asked weakly. He was still in pain from the previous ordeal - he couldn't tell how long ago.

"I - I'm sorry," Potter stammered, wringing the cloth nervously until there was a puddle on the floor. "I really didn't mean to, sir, I didn't."

"Stop blathering and get to the point, Potter!" Severus growled.

"I fell into your pensieve, sir," he said, all in one breath. "I'm sorry, it was an accident."

"Why were you here in the first place?" Severus saw that they were in his chambers, his pensieve standing a few feet away.

"I wanted to make sure everything was alright. You'll say it was stupid, I know, but something was telling me that it wasn't. And it was dark, and I walked into the pensieve, sir. I'm sorry, sir." Potter looked like he was bordering on a nervous breakdown - probably because he was.

"And you saw the last memory I had in there?" Severus said, as he raised himself on one elbow. He winced in pain. Nagini had left thorough bruises all over his torso. It was then he noticed that he was dressed in pajamas.

"Yes, sir," Potter said, nodding vigorously, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sir." Potter was still on his knees, and he reached out with his cloth to dab at Severus' face.

* * *

_Harry stumbled into the pensieve, and found himself in one of Snape's memories. It was a dark, damp stone room, and there were only two people in the room, Snape and Tom Riddle. This must have been years ago, Harry realized, because this Snape was younger than he ever remembered him. Snape knelt before Tom, as Tom took a firm hold of Snape's hair with both hands, and demanded entrance into Snape's mouth._

_Harry was horrified, but couldn't look away. As Tom pushed down his throat, Snape began to choke. But Tom didn't pay attention. He simply pounded harder. Finally, Snape collapsed from lack of air._

_The memory skipped then, and Harry saw Snape, disrobed, lying on the stone floor with Tom, in an equally unclothed state, standing over him. Snape had shackles on his wrists as he shook his head to clear his mind._

_"An excellent job, my pretty," Tom cooed. Snape tried to sit up, his eyes fearful, as he assessed the helplessness of his position._

_"My lord," he said, "if there's anything else I can do - anything - " Tom sneered at him._

_"I see why they call you Snivellus," he drawled. Snape winced. "Sniveling like you are, it makes for an accurate name, don't you think?" Snape shuddered.  
_

_"Yes, my lord," he muttered, letting his long black hair obscure his vision as he hung his head. Tom grabbed the handcuffs, dragged Snape to his feet, and threw him against the wall._

_"Stay standing," Tom warned, and wincing, Snape obeyed. Tom walked over to Snape casually, and pulled Snape's arms above his head, hooking them there. Harry thought he saw Snape shudder again, but he couldn't be sure. Tom knocked Snape's legs apart, and more shackles grew from the walls, as if on cue, holding Snape there. Tom stood back to admire his work._

_Snape stood there, red with shame and humiliation. Even when he tried to shield himself with his hair, Harry could still make out just how humiliated he was. And he felt for Snape. Just as Snape had said he could understand Harry, now Harry could understand Snape as well. He felt his eyes well up, and he began to blink furiously. Finally, he gave up and dragged his sleeve across his eyes._

_"I'm so sorry, Professor," Harry whispered, even though memory Snape couldn't hear._

_"Let me hear you beg," Tom said. He summoned a riding crop, and began to tap it menacingly into his hand._

_"My lord," Snape began, breathing heavily, but erratically, "no." Tom sprang forward, and brought the riding crop down hard against Snape's cheek, hard enough to cause his head to spin to the side. Snape's abuser drew himself up close, and ran his hand gently against the angry red mark._

_"Don't you ever say no to me," Tom said very seductively. "No is not an option. You can either start begging now, or we can do this the hard way and I can force it out of you." Tom ran the tip of the crop over Snape's chest, and finally, pushing it against his chin, forced eye contact. "Now which will it be?" Snape closed his eyes, and let out one shuddering breath, almost a sob, but not quite._

_"Please, my lord," Snape began._

_"That's better, Snivellus," Tom smirked. "Keep it up."_

_Harry wanted to look away and cover his ears, but he was frozen watching the awful scene play out before him. Harry felt terrible. He wanted to rush at memory Riddle and thrash him within an inch of his life. No, he wanted to kill him._

_"I'm not worth this!" Harry whispered to himself._

_"Don't do this," Snape continued pleading. "Please. I'll do anything you want, just please, anything but this." Tom lunged forward and struck Snape across his torso. Snape tried to double over, but his bonds wouldn't allow it._

_"I thought - I thought if I begged," Snape stammered through the pain, "I thought you wouldn't do it." Tom smiled at him. If it had been in any other situation, Harry thought it would have been quite a handsome, innocent smile. But the circumstances just made it look all the eviler._

_"Surprise is the name of the game, is it not?" Tom said._

_"No," Snape choked out, "abuse and rape."_

_"Through which I use surprise," Tom said. "But enough verbal banter." He struck Snape again and the beating continued. After several minutes, Tom put the crop between his teeth and pressed his flesh against Snape's. Tom growled quietly in his throat._

_"Just get it over with," Snape almost whimpered, still in an obvious great deal of pain. Tom ran his hands up Snape's chest until they gripped the hair on the back of his head. Tom bent Snape's head to his own, and kissed him roughly, the crop still between them. He snapped Snape's head back suddenly, causing him to gasp in pain._

_"Severus, Severus," Tom said, after he pulled the crop from his mouth and dropped it next to them. "Are you - ready now?" Snape looked like he wanted to throw up - he probably did - but he nodded. "I can't hear that," Tom whispered._

_"I am," Snape said._

_"You are what?"_

_"I'm ready."_

_"For?" Tom smiled cruelly. "Go on. Say it."_

_"I'm ready for - for you - " Snape's voice broke. Tom grabbed the forgotten crop and struck him where it would hurt them most. Snape bit his lip until it bled._

_"I'm ready for you to rape me!" Snape cried out, the pain, both physical and mental, apparent in his voice. He choked out one heart wrenching sob, and said, "Just do it."_

_"That's better," Tom said, releasing Snape from his bonds. He fell in a heap on the floor. Tom kicked Snape in the skull with the ball of his foot. "Come on, present yourself. You know how I like it." Snape, weak with pain and fatigue, knelt, bent over, and placed his forehead on the floor. He covered the back of his head with his arms._

_Harry covered his face, unable to watch. Riddle hadn't had any courtesy with Snape, Harry had noticed. It drove the point home for Harry that Riddle wasn't under any sort of delusion that Snape should like what was happening. Riddle was only using Snape and throwing him away when he was finished. Harry wasn't sure which situation was worse, his or Snape's._

_He wanted to tear his eardrums out. Riddle's moans and Snape's stifled cries were assaulting him, even if he refused to watch._

_Harry collapsed when he was spit out of the pensieve when the memory ended. It was then that Harry realized he was weeping freely. How long, he didn't know. But judging my the fact that the memory ended, Snape was no where to be found. This disturbed Harry more than a little._

_Why was he even here again? Oh, because he'd had a dream, a vague one - he couldn't remember anything - which told him to go check on Snape. Harry was legitimately worried now._

_Snape's unconscious body, followed by his clothes, were sent through the fireplace. They landed with a thud at Harry's feet._

* * *

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm so sorry." Snape glared at him, and Harry hung his head, even though he was cooling his professor's - his _father's_ - feverish forehead.

"Why didn't you leave as soon as you'd fallen in?" he growled threatening. Harry winced at the tone.

"I don't know how, sir," Harry said. "Dumbledore pulled me out the only other time I was in one." Snape sighed exasperatedly.

"Give me that," he snapped, as he grabbed the cloth away from Harry. Harry immediately stood up and took two large steps away from the man.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured. He bit his lip contritely. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

"Yes!" Snape said, sitting up the rest of way, poorly hiding a wince. "You can go obliviate yourself! Forget you ever were here tonight, and don't you dare come back. Ever." Harry watched with every increasing horror as Snape finished. He hadn't realized just how much those words were going to hurt. Harry supposed it was because Snape was the only person on the face of the earth - outside of Vernon and himself, of course - who had any concept of what had happened that summer and break.

He was being rejected by the one being who shared that secret.

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, unable to control the first tear that leaked out of the corner of his eye. He turned and walked over to the door. Snape sighed loudly.

"Harry Snape, you fool, get back here," he said, the eye roll clear in his tone. Harry stopped and turned to look at his elder. There was a small light of hope in his eyes.

"Yes, sir?" Harry said as he edged his way back.

"Obliviating yourself is very dangerous," Snape said, calmer, though he was sneering very lightly, "and with your Gryffindor stupidity, you'd probably try it too. And it would be difficult to have remedial potions without my private laboratory."

That was the closest thing Harry had ever heard to an apology from Snape, and he was willing to accept it as such.

"Yes, sir," he said, smiling ever so slightly. "Thank you, sir." Snape nodded his acknowledgement.

"How did you get past Filch?" Snape asked. Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the invisibility cloak, throwing it around himself. Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry put it away. "I see," Snape said. "It's dangerous for you to wander the castle at night, cloak or no. And since I am not about to walk you back to your lion's den, you're stuck here till morning." Snape grabbed his wand and transfigured a small table into a cot. "Go sleep there."

"Yes, sir," he said. Gratefully, Harry sank down on it and lay on his side.

"And - Potter," Snape said, sounding more unsure than Harry had ever heard him, "thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry said, feeling more warmed by those two words than he ever thought he would be. Snape lay back down on the couch.

"Sir?" Harry said after a moment. "Do you - have any dreamless sleep potion?"

"Sleeping in my chambers is that bad?" Snape drawled, though the amusement was clear in my voice. Harry chuckled a little bit, albeit nervously.

"No, sir," he said. "I was just wondering."

"I'm a potions master," Snape announced. "Of course I have dreamless sleep. Why do you need it?"

"It's nothing, Professor," Harry shrugged.

"If it were nothing, you wouldn't have asked," Snape pointed out. "You have nightmares?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed after a moment. Snape nodded, though Harry couldn't see.

"What do you normally do about them?"

"I have some dreamless sleep in the dormitory."

"From Madame Pomfrey?"

"Uh..." Harry paused. "Yeah, sort of."

"Which is like saying no. You're making it?" Harry was silent a moment.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"How strong and how often?" Snape pressed calmly.

"As strong as I can make it and every night," Harry said, his voice almost dejected. "I can't sleep without it." He thought he heard Snape mutter something about "the idiot boy."

"In the cupboard over there," Snape sighed, and pointed. "Take a double dose."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, getting up and doing as he was instructed.

"It's not healthy, you know," Snape commented once Harry was back on his cot.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said weakly. "Not sleeping isn't healthy either."

"I know," Snape whispered. They were silent for a few minutes.

"How do you deal with the nightmares?" Harry asked finally.

"Lucid dream," Snape said, not even bothering to deny their existence. "I'll teach you."

"Thank you," Harry said, the sound of sleep heavy in his voice. "Good night, sir."

"Good night," Snape whispered back as he also drifted into a twilight.

* * *

_**Sorry for the shorter chapters! Don't forget to review. I only got a couple on the last chapter, though, they were good ones.**_

**House points:**

Slytherin: 545

Ravenclaw: 180

Gryffindor: 70

Hufflepuff: 25


	6. No Post on Sunday

There was no post on Sundays. And that, Vernon Dursley had stated, was his reason why Sunday was his favorite day. He leaned back, alone in the house, as always on Sunday, opened the morning paper, and began to sip his tea.

He looked up when there was a scratching at the window. A brown owl was scratching for admittance, and Vernon saw that there was a parchment tied to his leg. With a sigh of annoyance, he let the owl in. It was undoubtedly about Harry, perhaps the Easter holiday. Though he thought it was a little early. Well, whatever it was about, he was going to ask for Harry back over Easter break too. He liked having his whore around. He grinned. It would have been deemed quite a wicked grin if anyone was there to see it.

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,_

_The Ministry of Magic hereby informs you that the custody of one, Harry James Potter, has been removed from you and transferred to Severus Snape. After applying, and given the endorsement of Albus Dumbledore, the blood adoption preformed will protect the Savoir of the wizarding world more efficiently. We wish to thank you for your years of service to our kind._

_Sincerely,_

_Minister Fudge_

A year ago, if Vernon had received this letter, he would have framed it, and he knew that. Right now, he wanted to tear the paper to shreds, deny its existence, and demand Harry back for Easter. But what little part of his mind remained rational told him that that would be pointless. Instead, he crumpled it and threw it on the table. He shooed the owl out the window and slammed it shut.

Collapsing into the chair, Vernon unwrinkled the letter, and reread it. He knew the only reason he wanted the freak back was so that he could use him. But he didn't want to go to anyone else, or use anyone else. After all, it was wrong to use a normal person. But Harry was just a freak, a freak among freaks, even. It was that scar that had given him the idea after all, that perhaps it wasn't so wrong to have his own whore. The thought of a prostitute, male or female, repulsed him. He didn't want to have to share.

His only hope was to get in contact with this Severus Snape and arrange for regular visits with his nephew.

* * *

Harry woke with a start, and almost fell out of his cot. Instinctively, he had grabbed his wand and was vaguely pointing it at anything that threatened to move. Why wasn't he in his dormitory? What had happened?

"Finally up, I see," a familiar voice drawled from behind him. Harry whirled and lowered his wand. Suddenly he remembered the previous night, and he shuddered.

"Yes, sir," Harry said nervously. Snape was dressed in his usual robes, and he had his wand at the ready. Similar to how he carried his wand, Harry noticed. But then, they probably had similar reasons. Harry was really trying to gauge Snape, but his face was unreadable like usual. "Good morning," he finally said.

"Good morning," Snape returned, almost pleasantly. "Your head of house contacted me this morning about your absence. I assured her that everything was alright, and you were with me. In case she asks you anything." He raised his eyebrow in a silent warning.

"Yes, sir. We were discussing the nature of potions, especially dreamless sleep," Harry said.

"I know exactly what we were doing," Snape said, with a highly contorted smirk on his face. "I was there." Harry tried not to snicker, and failed. It really wasn't funny, but it was. And apparently Snape agreed judging from his failing attempts not to smirk. "But back to the potions, you've abused dreamless sleep. You've seriously abused it."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, suddenly losing any desire to laugh. He was in trouble now. "I know, sir. But I only did it because - "

"I know why you did it," Snape cut off. "If it means anything to you, I understand. But that doesn't mean that what you've done to yourself is any less harmful."

"I don't see what's so horrible about it," Harry sulked. "I'm still here, aren't I? I don't think I would be without it. And it's not like it's hurting me. I just need to take it at night." Snape rolled his eyes.

"It's a drug addiction is what it is," Snape said shortly. Harry winced at the phrase. Technically, he supposed it was. But it wasn't like what Muggles called drug addiction. He was only seeking an escape from something to horrible for him to properly name most of the time. Then he reminded himself that that was why some Muggles took drugs too.

"But it doesn't hurt me," Harry repeated. "So what if I have to take it?"

"It does hurt you!" Snape said.

"How?" Harry challenged, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't ready to give up the only thing that made sleep bearable.

"Are you having trouble concentrating in class?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow as a challenge.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"Are you forgetting things?"

"Yes, sir," he mumbled again, this time with a wince.

"And how does it feel when you realize you need to take it every night? When you go and drink it?"

"I feel like I'm - weak - and that I'll not take it tomorrow night, but I never do," Harry quietly admitted.

"And you don't think this is hurting you?"

"Maybe the last thing is connected to the dreamless sleep," Harry admitted, his voice almost petulant, "but the other two aren't from the potion!"

"Oh, yes they are," Snape contradicted. "Your brain needs to dream. And how long have you been denying your mind that?"

"Since about halfway through the school year," Harry shrugged, guiltily. "Before that, I used it off and on."

"Right," Snape said, so for two months you've been trying to make your brain not dream. It fails sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry confirmed.

"Because if it didn't, you would die," Snape said quietly. Then more loudly, "When you dream, your brain cools itself by several degrees. If it doesn't, you inflict brain damage on yourself. It kills off brain cells, which is why you're struggling to concentrate and remember. Do you see now?" Harry hung his head. If the potion did all that, then yes, he could see how it was hurting him.

"But the dreams will hurt me more," he whispered. When he looked up at Snape, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"No, they won't," Snape insisted. "I can help - "

"You can't!" Harry suddenly shouted. In his wild grief and anger, he lost control of himself and grabbed his professor's shirt front for emphasis. Perhaps he was also reaching out for a pillar in storm too great for him to weather alone. "Do you know what I have to suffer through every time I dream?" Harry shouted. "Do you? I have to relive night after night with Vernon! Every time I dream! It was bad enough three times a week with him. I can't stand every night. I just can't. And you know what the worst part is? I enjoyed it!" He broke down and leaned his head against Snape, trying to regain control of himself. "I enjoyed it," he sobbed miserably.

Snape rolled his eyes as though he had an audience and had to apologize to them. Then he embraced Harry, and waited for the boy to collect himself.

"Care to explain?" was all he said, once the sobbing had slowed.

"No, sir," Harry said, pulling away, embarrassed and guilty, "We - I need to get to classes." He turned, refusing to meet Snape's eyes, and began to pick up his bag.

"It's Saturday," Snape reminded Harry gently.

"Oh," Harry said, suddenly stopping, and dropping his bag back where it was. That meant that Snape could keep him as long as he wanted, really. He would make him talk about everything, Harry knew. You just couldn't say no to Snape and get away with it.

"Care to explain?" Snape tried again, as he sat down on the sofa facing the empty fireplace. With a flick of his wand, there was a raging fire, and two steaming mugs on the coffee table. "Come over and sit down," he said gently, picking up a mug and handing it to Harry. Nervously, as if expecting a trap, Harry made his way around the couch and perched himself on the edge. He couldn't help but think the last time he had sat on a couch, alone with another man, this nervously - he stopped his thoughts there. He couldn't afford to get caught up in that memory, not now.

Snape must have seen how upset he was because suddenly he said, "You can put your feet on the couch if you take your shoes off." Quickly, Harry did just that and tucked his feet under him, and turned sideways on the sofa. It did make him feel a lot safer, and a lot more relaxed actually. "Here," Snape continued once Harry was settled, handing him the mug. "Chocolate is good for more than just dementors."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, with an apologetic smile. Snape picked up his own, and blew on it before taking a sip.

"Care to explain?" he tried for a third time. Harry put down the chocolate and glared at Snape, his lips pressed into a pale line. Then, while Snape patiently waited for an answer, Harry's breathing quickened, and he sucked his lips into his mouth. He began to blink quickly.

"I hate this," he whispered. "I never cried. Now I cry over everything. Why?"

"Because that's not true," Snape said. "You don't cry over everything. Just one thing. And you would have always cried over it. And you always will unless you come to grips with it."

"Yeah," Harry said bitterly. He would have made some self-insulting comment, but nothing came to him that didn't equally insult the man sitting across from him. Snape let him stew for a few moments before handing him the mug again.

"Take a sip," he ordered softly. Harry did as he was told, but showed no reaction save some color returning to his too pale cheeks. "You're starving yourself too."

"I am not," Harry contradicted quickly.

"Alright," Snape agreed. "Then why are you a walking skeleton?"

"Food doesn't taste good," Harry mumbled.

"Your hunger doesn't drive you to eat more even if you're not fond of it? Are you sure there isn't more?" Snape questioned.

"No," Harry said hesitantly, unsure how much information he wanted to divulge.

"What else is there?" Snape took another sip.

"I thought - that maybe if I, you know," Harry stalled and waved his hand to indicate that he thought that Snape understood.

"You thought that if you starved yourself..." Snape provided the concept that Harry couldn't say.

"Yeah," Harry agreed reluctantly, "that maybe Vernon would want to." He winced at how he couldn't even make himself say these things. He'd seen it; he'd done it. Why couldn't he name it?

"Did it ever work?"

_Harry was immediately caught up in a memory from over the summer. He was lying on the bed, fully clothed, so that Vernon could personally disrobe him, as so often had Harry do. He felt cold, almost like a dementor was close. It didn't feel quite like that, but he wondered if he would ever feel happy again. His uncle stripped and looked his body over as he lay there. Vulnerable. Weak. Whore. Slut. Vernon got on the bed, and pulled him into a sitting position._

_"Kneel," Vernon instructed, so Harry did without a word of protest. He had already done his protesting and lost. Sure, he would plead as Vernon thrust into him, he knew, but he also knew it would do no good. Vernon ran his hands through the boy's hair with the passion that was a lie. That was all this was, Harry told himself for the umpteenth time, a lie. Vernon didn't care about him at any level, even a sick and twisted level. He only used him for the pleasure he could bring. And Vernon had the idea that he had to pleasure Harry in return. He really wished that Vernon wouldn't, but he hadn't even been able to convince him of that._

_Vernon reached under Harry's t-shirt and lifted it off of him. Harry felt a shudder run up his spine as he was exposed. More vulnerable. Weaker. Still a whore and slut._

_"It's like unwrapping a present," Vernon said hungrily. Harry winced. "Harry," he said, "you've gotten thinner."_

_"Yes, sir," Harry said, his voice gravelly._

_"That's no matter," Vernon dismissed. "More angles when you're thin." He moved his hands over Harry's showing rib cage and gently pulled his trousers and pants down, next accentuating the jutting hip bones. With one hand on his hip and another on his shoulder, Vernon pushed Harry back into his previous position. "My pretty whore. My beautiful slut. Made even better by being thin. Oh, Harry," he breathed as he lay down beside him, running his hand leisurely from Harry's collarbone to his groin. "Even more beautiful than before."_

"No, not really," Harry finally answered. "It didn't help at all."

"You were remembering something," Snape observed.

"Yeah," Harry whispered bitterly.

"So why haven't you started to eat again now that you're at Hogwarts?" Snape pressed. "Take another sip."

"It doesn't taste any better," Harry murmured.

"Even the chocolate?" Snape asked. "How does that taste?"

"Like I shouldn't soil it with my mouth," Harry said.

"Explain."

"Do you know what's been in my mouth?" Harry snapped.

"I can imagine," Snape drawled lightly.

"And if you know what's been in my mouth," Harry said, "then how can I appreciate anything else being there? You don't need to lecture me on my eating habits, sir. Hermione's already been after me."

"Good girl," Snape said. "I get the distinct impression that she cares about you. Even the Weasley boy."

"They're my friends," Harry said suddenly very defensive.

"They don't know, do they?"

"No, sir," Harry said. "Just you, me, and Vernon."

"Why haven't you told them? Take another sip."

"How could I?"

"You could simply tell them the truth."

"I can't even name it! I can't talk about it without falling apart, and I get trapped in the memories! What sort of a friend would I be if I told them? I'm the one who's supposed to save them. Not the one who needs saving."

"The greatest leaders are the lowest of servants," Snape said, "so why shouldn't a savior need saving? The world is built on paradoxes." Harry closed his eyes, and tried to quell the violent shaking that had begun. The mug of chocolate slipped from his hands and broke on the floor. Without a word, Snape cleaned up the mess and had another mug on the table.

"Potter!" he said. "Come out of it! You're in my chambers!" No reaction. "Potter!" he tried again. "Harry! Harry James Severus Potter Snape, come out of it!" That got a reaction. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he sighed once.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's fine," Snape said.

"Why do you bother?" he muttered sullenly.

"Because I haven't seen you smile, not really smile, since last year." It was the last reason Harry expected to hear. It actually caused something of a smile to creep onto his face at that moment.

"I've never seen you smile, sir," Harry pointed out. Snape nodded.

"It's a rare occurrence," he admitted. "But I was not under the impression that we were here to talk about my state," he continued. "Take another sip." Snape handed him the fresh mug.

"No, thank you," Harry muttered as he refused the cup.

"Why?"

"I just don't want it," Harry whined.

"You like it, though?" Harry winced. How often he had heard that question!

"Yeah," he whispered hollowly. "I like it."

"If you think denying yourself chocolate is going to somehow be a punishment for any guilt you feel, it's not going to work," Snape finally said. "You know the two don't equate. You just haven't found something more serious to do to yourself."

"Then what would you have me do?" Harry leaned his shoulder against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

"I want you to live."

"But _i_ don't want to live!" Harry choked out. "I want the pain to stop!"

"I know," Snape said quietly.

"The only reason I didn't kill myself at Private Drive was because of my duty!" Harry went on. "It would have made Vol - I mean, You-Know-Who's job too easy."

"Not for your friends?"

"They would be better off if I were dead," Harry said, finally opening his eyes, but not pushing himself off the couch. Snape raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "I wouldn't drag them into trouble that way, and I wouldn't have to worry about - tainting them."

"How are you tainted?"

"Just stop!" Harry screamed. "Go away! I don't want to think about it anymore!" He fisted his hand against his temples in agony.

"You didn't want to talk about it at all," Snape pointed out. "Now take a sip, and calm down. That's an order." He tried again to hand Harry the cup, who uncurled himself enough to accept it. "Drink it!" Snape barked when Harry didn't do anything. Reluctantly he took a sip.

"Better?" he asked, almost pouting.

"Yes," Snape agreed. "What are you dreams like on the rare occurrences that you do dream?" Harry paled, looked shocked, and then set the mug down carefully before covering his face with his hands in shame. Snape heard Harry's breath hitch once, but that was all the sound he made. His shoulders shook silently, bowed with the weight they had been forced to carry from even years ago. The weight of the wizarding world hung on his shoulders, and Snape knew that Harry knew it. It was more than one individual - much less a child - should ever have bear alone.

Snape moved closer to Harry on the couch, though Harry gave no indication that he was aware. Also setting his chocolate down, Snape put his arms awkwardly around the boy and pulled him close. He didn't even resist, Snape noticed. Harry, on the other hand, once he was touched, had trained it into himself that he needed to let whatever would happen happen. He let Snape touch him as a carry over from a survival instinct with Vernon.

"They're terrible," Harry finally sobbed into the older man's arms.

"Are they simply memories?" Snape asked calmly. Harry was surprised at the amount of gentleness the man possessed when he tried.

"Sometimes," Harry replied, still trying to bring himself under control. "Sometimes its other things, or - or other people." Harry looked up and looked at Snape with his tear stained face. "It's pretty messed up, huh?"

"No," Snape said, shaking his head ruefully. "Not at all." He grabbed Harry firmly by the chin and forced him to continue to look at him. "How do you know that you enjoyed it?" That brought a fresh round of tears from Harry. "Shh," Snape said, letting the eye contact be lost.

"I was aroused," Harry sniffled into Snape's robes quite pitifully. "I still am when I wake." It disturbed Harry more than he wanted to admit.

"That's a natural reaction," Snape said. "You have no control over it."

"I know," Harry whispered. "But it's horrible." Snape just nodded, and didn't force Harry away from him.

"Your body may have enjoyed it," Snape finally said, "but you didn't. Don't confuse your body with you. Your body is part of you, but it isn't the only part, and it isn't the most important part either. You're so much more than your body." Harry nodded, unable to meet Snape's eyes. "That is one mistake your uncle made - seeing you as only your body. Don't make the same mistake."

"I - I don't think I'll ever be able - " Harry quietly stammered. Snape waited without pushing him. "I don't think I'll ever be able to put the woman I'll love through that." Snape sighed sadly.

"You may be right," Snape said. "Sometimes you never recover."

* * *

Potter had hit the nail on the head. It had been a fundamental reason for his disinterest in marrying the woman he loved. It was the same tragic story being played out again. Severus swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to make it as bearable for the child in his arms. In his arms! How had this happened? Severus would have pushed Potter away, if he had thought that it wouldn't hurt him. If he let him go now, Potter would undoubtedly take it as a sign that he was too "messed up," as the boy eloquently put it, for even his adoptive father (the thought!) to touch him.

"I want you to start eating," Severus said firmly. "Even if Miss Granger has spoken to you about it, I need you to eat more. I will be keeping an eye on you in the Great Hall for meals. I expect you to eat a decent amount. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," Potter said. "Don't touch me." He pushed Severus' arms away, and Severus complied.

"I want you to give me the rest of your stocks of dreamless sleep as well," he continued.

"What?" Potter said, paling with shock. "I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be able to sleep! And if I do, I'll dream!"

"That's the whole point," Severus drawled. "You're supposed to dream. But here's what you can do. There's always a sign that you're dreaming in the dream. Some little thing out of place. One wrong sentence. Pay attention to details when you dream. By the very fact that you may ask yourself if it is a dream, you can know that it is. Take control of the situation then and order yourself to wake up. It will take some practice, but that is the basis of lucid dreaming. Your mind can't produce an exact replica of reality. Take advantage of that."

"Thank you, sir," Potter said, actually sounding a bit relieved.

"It takes a strong mind, but you have demonstrated that you already have one, by keeping me out of your most personal memories."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Potter said. He reached over and picked up the hot chocolate. After taking one sip, he said, "I think I've taken up enough of your time." He set the mug down and got up from the couch. "I hope you're feeling better this morning. I'll have the essay done by Monday."

"I am, thank you," Severus said, also rising. "Be sure to support your opinion with text from the book."

"I will, sir," Potter said, picking up his bag. "Be kind to yourself, sir." He turned quickly and reached to open the door.

"Harry," Severus said, "you too."

* * *

_**Don't forget to leave your house preference with your review. And please review, I've been getting precious few of them!**_

**House points:**

Slytherin: 590

Ravenclaw: 330

Gryffindor: 90

Hufflepuff: 25


	7. The Balance of Power

The door clicked as Potter left. Severus sighed, as he rolled the warm mug of chocolate in his hands thoughtfully. He crossed his legs and took a sip as he stared off into the fire. He was more concerned about Potter than he was willing to let on. The boy had taken his home situation hard - as he should.

It was amazing, Severus thought, how much a simple mug of chocolate could do for a person. It was a favorite remedy of his, actually, which was why he introduced it to Potter. It wasn't like the boy had cooperated much though. In a way, Severus was glad of Potter's lack of cooperation. The horror was still fresh in his mind, and it still appalled him. He was still in a state of shock over it. There was a certain innocence in that, which Severus envied.

It was probably because of how long it had been going on for him, he thought. It had only taken a few months after he'd signed on with the Death Eaters for it to begin. Severus wasn't even sure how it had begun entirely. Maybe it was when Bellatrix had turned the Dark Lord down. There was the odd word, or the lingering touch for a few months. Little things that Severus tried to shrug off even when he noticed them - most of the time he didn't notice though. It was only in looking at his memories in the pensieve was he able to see how his master had groomed him. The Dark Lord earned his trust and then violated it and him in one blow, but it was too late.

It had happened so much, so often, that a cup of chocolate and a few pages of parchment were all the therapy he needed now. Or felt he needed. He didn't like seeing Potter in such distress over what had happened. But he knew that becoming like himself was not the answer. Definitely not the answer. Long ago he had resigned himself to his fate and accepted it. For him, there was no escape.

When he first joined the Death Eaters, he agreed to do the Dark Lord's bidding at every turn. Never questioning, only obedience. It was his job to make his lord's potions and do whatever else he commanded. During his youth, his blind trusting youth, this had not bothered him nearly as much as it should have. He was fine with following the every whim of his lord, because he had chosen who he would follow. It was control without control. He felt he had made the choice yet bore no responsibility. Which, he knew now, was not the case. He would always bear responsibility for his actions, because no one else could be responsible for them.

And once he sought escape from the Death Eaters, when Lily's life was threatened, Dumbledore's only offer was that of spying. He took it, because it was a way to redeem himself for his foolish actions as an impressionable teenager. It was the only way to make up for putting the woman he loved in danger, and eventually killing her, even if inadvertently.

But even as that lonely Halloween night had brought an eternal pain of remorse to his heart, it also freed him from his lord. For his new found freedom, he was secretly grateful, and for that he also felt the twin pain guilt. He had a hard time grasping the idea that anything good could have come from that night. The tragedy was too complete, too terrible, for there to be anything good come out of it for him. Yet, it had.

For a few years, he lived in peace. Or at least, as much peace as he could ever hope to find. Yes, the remorse and guilt pressed on him every hour of every day. Most people would not have called that peace, Severus thought. But for him, it had been. Then the Dark Lord returned, and remembered. He remembered his faithful dog. Severus unconsciously made a face as he thought that. The Dark Lord remembered, and began to summon him. He bore it all with the stoicism of an ancient Greek philosopher. There was nothing else he could do. He couldn't refuse his master without revealing his true colors, without compromising his position as a spy. And he couldn't afford to do that.

There was Lily's child to protect and, though him, the whole of the world. Not only the wizards, but the muggles as well. The Dark Lord would not stop at simply ruling the wizarding world. He would demand the surrender and slavery of every non-magical creature on planet earth as well. Perhaps he was overrating his importance, he thought. But no, as the only spy in this war, he didn't think he was. He truly was a key piece in the elaborate chess game between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. Without him, the delicate balance of power would be irreparably disrupted. He voluntarily continued with his line of work for the sake of others. He didn't feel that he could justify saving himself, broken as he was, over saving the rest of the world.

Hero complex, he snorted into his chocolate. Better watch it, or I'll turn into a blasted Gryffindor.

* * *

Harry wandered up to the Gryffindor common room, which was busy with the hustle and bustle of student life. He stepped in, and was immediately greeted by Ron and Hermione.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, "where have you been?"

"With Snape," Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"All night?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Remedial potions ran late," Harry replied defensively. "And he wasn't about to take me back so he just had me stay down there with him."

"Sounds more like a torture sentence," Ron muttered. Harry smirked and nodded. It was expected of him, and honestly, that conversation that morning had been something of a torture session, though he knew Snape had not intended to make it so. He followed his friends to a small table in the corner. Apparently Ron had been copying from Hermione again, because Ron quickly started comparing the two essays.

"Which one is that?" Harry asked.

"The one for Snape on what we think that dragons' bane does to the dragon's physiology," Ron replied offhandedly. "You got it done yet?"

"Uh, no," Harry stammered. "Can I use yours, Hermione?"

"Honestly," Hermione sighed. "You would think you two couldn't do your own work for a change?"

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "I can do it." He pulled out a roll of parchment and his potions text and started to scribble a few words. He had just reached that point of concentration where one loses awareness of the outside world when Hermione slammed her book shut. Harry looked up, surprised, and found her glaring at him.

"What?" he said, genuinely confused.

"What's up with you and Snape?" she demanded quietly.

"Who says anything's up?" Harry deflected.

"Oh, come on," she sighed, "it doesn't take a genius to figure out that something's up. Even Ron noticed."

"Hey!" Ron protested over Hermione's lecture.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with Snape lately," she continued, unflapped by Ron's interruption. "More than strictly necessary for 'remedial potions.' The Headmaster had you go to see him earlier this week, and now you've spent the night with Snape."

"I did not!" Harry said, suddenly paling, looking rather panicked.

"Then where were you?" Ron demanded. "You just told us - "

"Oh," Harry said, "sorry, never mind. Nothing. Yeah, what I told you." He blushed a furious crimson and covered his face as he placed his elbows on the table. Hermione was almost smirking at him.

"You didn't think I was suggesting - ?"

"Nothing! It was nothing!" Harry mumbled sheepishly through his hands. "Just forget it."

"Fine," Hermione said, "but what's going on?"

"Absolutely nothing," Harry said, once he got himself under control, in what he hoped was his most convincing tone of voice. Ron made a face at him.

"Look, Harry," Hermione reasoned, "We're your friends. Whatever's been going on, you can trust us. Really. It's what friends are for, and we want to be there for you." Harry looked undecided for a moment. He really did want to unburden his soul to them, but he felt he shouldn't. He couldn't force them to consider the things he went through, the memories he lived with.

"Fine," Harry agreed reluctantly. "Snape adopted me." He wouldn't have to explain all the details of life at the Dursleys. If he kept the explanations short and simple, maybe Hermione and Ron would quit asking questions. Well, it certainly shut them up for the moment, Harry thought to himself. They both were blinking stupidly at him, almost owlishly.

"What?" Ron finally said, his tone absolutely flat.

"Why?" Hermione said right behind that.

"Snape adopted me because Dumbledore didn't like my home conditions apparently," Harry said with a shrug. "You know, like the bars on the window and the cat flap and stuff." As long as he referenced only things they knew about, then he wouldn't have to explain any further.

"And Dumbledore thinks Snape is going to be better?" Ron scoffed.

"Well," Harry stammered and shrugged. "He hasn't done anything too horrible yet." He tried to smile at them. "It's really not that bad. Really. Just Snape takes his job seriously, I guess, and he, I don't know, sort of _wants_ to talk to me now."

"Wants to?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Well, feels he has to," Harry amended. "If he's going to have a son," he made an unpleasant face, "then he probably should initiate some contact."

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Hermione asked, sounding almost hurt.

"Because - " Harry started and then paused. "Well, because I didn't want you guys to make fun of it. Or try to do something stupid to 'rescue' me from it. Honestly, I didn't know it was going to happen until it was already done, the adoption ceremony, I mean. So - there wasn't anything you could do anyway. And there still isn't. And I'd rather people didn't generally know, so if you can just - not tell people?"

"Of course, Harry," Ron said, extending a sympathetic hand. "Can't be easy having Snape for a father." Harry gave an amused snort.

"Can't be easy having me for a son," he joked, though there was a bitter undertone. Ron gave Harry's arm a firm squeeze in response.

"So you're Harry Snape now?" Hermione asked. "That sounds so - so weird. Harry Snape."

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry agreed. "At least legally. But I'll always be the famous Harry Potter."

"No," Hermione said, smiling a little bit, "you'll always be Harry." He smiled softly at her and nodded his appreciation.

* * *

_Dear Sirius,_

_Most of the owls have the letters censored before they can be delivered now. I had Hermione put a delay on the ink so Umbridge can't read what I've really written, but by the time you get it, you should be able to read this. If not, well, I guess I just wasted an evening trying to write to you._

_There's some things I think you should know, simply because you're my godfather, if you don't already know them. Chief among them being that Snape adopted me. I'm not sure how else to tell you. It just happened all at once for me too. Maybe that's why I can't break it to you slowly. Dumbledore performed the blood adoption ceremony, and approved of the arrangement. I really didn't get much say in the matter. When do I ever? It just happened, and now suddenly, I'm Snape's son._

_Please don't be angry about it. I'm sure Dumbledore would have picked you if the Ministry weren't after you and all. I'll be fine, I promise. Snape's been rather decent all in all, really. Scary, yeah, but he hasn't hurt me at all. He even gave me hot chocolate once. It's almost - nice with him, you know? Maybe you don't, but it's like I know what I can expect from him. He's a constant, and he doesn't change, or at least not easily._

_I think it might be a side effect of the adoption magic, but it actually bothers me when people insult him now. I don't really understand it. It just does. Like when Ron or someone calls him a name, it almost feels like it reflects on me. I know they don't mean it - heck, no one even knows about this other than Ron, Hermione, and the teachers - but I still don't like it. And Snape hasn't let Malfoy get away with much in Potions anymore. It's almost a strange protectiveness that we've found. I don't think he actually likes me any better than he ever did, but he's done a good job of looking out for me._

_I hope everything's well with you. I might be able to come see you for Easter. I know you wanted me to come for Christmas, as did I, and I'm sorry about that. Thanks for everything._

_Your godson,_

_Harry_

Sirius didn't know what to make of the letter. It wasn't like Harry to say anything even vaguely positive about Snape. And this whole adoption business. He wasn't sure what Dumbledore had up his sleeve. But he didn't like it at all that Snape had adopted his godson. Like Harry had pointed out, he should have been the one to adopt the boy if anyone was going to adopt him.

But no, Dumbledore just handed Harry over to the overgrown dungeon bat and didn't even consult him about it. Snape picked on Harry. Everyone knew that, so why would the headmaster have chosen that one to care for the boy? It made no sense to him. He was repulsed by the thought that Snape was now Harry's father. James was Harry's father, and would always - always - be Harry's father. No matter what a deluded old man and a Death Eater might say.

* * *

Harry knew Sirius would have a hard time accepting the fact that Snape had adopted him. That's why he tried to put in as many positive things about Snape as he could. He didn't want Sirius to worry about him either. Honestly, Harry didn't think he had much to worry about with Snape, other than perhaps the occasional session of relentless questions breaking down his walls and finding out his secrets.

But there was a certain comfort, Harry realized, in having someone else know. He might not like Snape particularly, but he did feel close. A combination of the adoption and secret sharing, he figured. He felt protective as well. Harry wondered if this was how Snape felt too. Because apparently the man had feelings.

Harry hadn't seen Sirius since - well, he couldn't rightly remember the last time he'd seen his godfather. It had been a long time. He hoped that Sirius wouldn't take the news of his adoption too hard. The man cared about him deeply, Harry knew. He would feel angry and jealous, Harry was sure. But Harry believed that Azkaban had unhinged a few doors, so to speak, in Sirius' mind. He didn't think his godfather was right in the head all the time. But then, who would be after spending twelve years with dementors? Harry knew he would be in pieces after just a few moments against them without his wand and patronus. How many times had he passed out again? And he knew his reactions would only have gotten worse. It was a miracle that Sirius still could form a coherent sentence. It was too much to expect the man to always be rational. After twelve years without a happy thought or a glimpse of joy, Harry thought that Sirius was doing remarkably well.

He simply hoped that his godfather would be as willing to understand him as he was to understand his godfather.

Hedwig flew into the common room. It had been several days since he sent that letter to Sirius, and she had a parchment tied to her leg. As quickly as he could, Harry untied the letter and began to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_I am deeply concerned about your news. All of it. But especially the second and more personal thing. The first is something to be expected from government like that. Why would such a thing have happened? Harry, be careful. I don't trust the man. I don't trust his loyalties or his motivations, and I don't trust that he will look out for your best interests. I also wonder why the headmaster approved this. It worries me._

_I look forward to seeing you over Easter._

_Padfoot_

Well. This type of response probably wasn't to be entirely unexpected. Of course it was vague and cryptic because Sirius didn't know (and neither did Harry) whether Umbridge was going to read the incoming mail too. Sirius wasn't stupid. But Harry was still a little upset that he didn't see that Snape was loyal, and that he was looking out for Harry's best interests.

But then, Harry reminded himself, two weeks ago, wouldn't he have thought the same as Sirius? It had only been with very personal revelations and the magic of the adoption that Harry's opinion of Snape had begun to change. Yet Sirius didn't trust him to make the judgement. Harry wanted to scribble out a reply berating his godfather for judging a man before learning his story. And if he did that, he would thoroughly berate himself for making the same mistake as well. But it wasn't his secret to give, and he wouldn't violate Snape's trust, albeit given grudgingly.

If only Sirius could know what Snape had given up - and still gave up - to help him, Harry! Then Sirius wouldn't question Snape's loyalties. Then he wouldn't question Snape's motivations. Then maybe, just maybe, Sirius would be able to accept that Snape adopted him.

* * *

The world was made up of black and white. You were either good or bad. It was the thought that he had clung to for twelve years. And he couldn't give it up now, not after that long. Not after what that belief had done for him. And he'd been thrown in Azkaban believing Snape to be the bad, black Death Eater. He couldn't change his mind now.

Why couldn't Dumbledore see it? The man was making a grave mistake giving his godson's care over to the sniveling coward. He had always had absolute faith in Dumbledore. But if he couldn't see it - wait, no, maybe... Sirius cast the thought aside. It was impossible. Maybe Dumbledore did see. Maybe he didn't care. Or maybe he was really involved in some darker plot than Sirius had ever suspected.

His world came crashing down. Dumbledore? Could it be, that in twelve years, somehow he'd gotten his prioreties messed up? And maybe Snape and Dumbledore were in league somehow. Dumbledore had betrayed him. He had betrayed everyone.

Sirius had often felt bitter and angry at the followers of the Light. How had they been so hasty as to throw him in Azkaban without even hearing the evidence in his favor? What if it had been because Dumbledore hadn't really cared?

Suddenly everything made sense to him. He had been sent to Azkaban because Dumbledore had his own agenda. Snape really wasn't a Death Eater - he was Dumbledore's lapdog. And they were both using Harry. Why hadn't he seen this earlier? Why hadn't Remus seen it?

He pressed his palms against his forehead, his mind racing. The poor boy. He was being manipulated, and he didn't even know it. Well, there was only thing he could think of to save his godson. It was risky, very dangerous, and absolutely ridiculous. Perfect plan, he thought wryly. If Dumbledore controlled one side of the war, then perhaps he could parley with the other side. He could see what You-Know-Who himself had to say about matters.

Sure, he didn't like the whole pure-blood only regime, but he didn't like Dumbledore's form of injustice either. And he wanted Harry out of the reach of anyone who would try to use him. His only hesitation was that You-Know-Who really wasn't all the fond of Harry either. But perhaps - perhaps - he could convince him to take action against Snape, heck, even against Dumbledore himself. If he got rid of those two, Harry would be safe from them, and someone else could take over for them. Sirius was sure there had to be someone who would respect Harry.

If Dumbledore and Snape were the black, then who was the white?

* * *

_**Before you review, let me explain. This is actually not Sirius bashing. There's admittedly a fine line between Sirius bashing and what I wrote, but this is meant to illustrate the workings of the mind of a man who has been so long without love and joy that he no longer can see people's actions for what they really are. I do not believe it plausible that anyone could live in Azkaban for twelve years and remain sane, no matter how innocent they were. So this is nothing against Sirius personally. He's a good man, and his central motive is to do what's good for Harry. He's simply - a bit unbalanced. Thanks, all!**_

**House points:**

Slytherin: 685

Ravenclaw: 460

Gryffindor: 100

Hufflepuff: 25


	8. Servant of Two Masters

An owl swooped low, and dropped a piece of paper on Severus' desk. He noticed it was an envelope - a muggle envelope - addressed to him. He opened it up, wondering what problem one of his muggle-born or half-blood students was going on about now.

_Dear Mr. Snape,_

_I recently received word that you were made guardian of my nephew, Harry Potter. Whatever reason the Ministry might have had for this sudden change, it hardly seems appropriate that he have no contact with his relatives. I was hoping that perhaps we could have visitation rights, if wizards have such a thing._

_I await your reply,_

_Vernon Dursley_

Severus touched the paper as little as possible, repulsed as he was by touching it. The nerve of the man. Obviously he didn't expect anyone else to know about what had gone on. Well, two could play at this game. Severus sat down to write his reply.

_Mr. Dursley,_

_Visitation rights is certainly understood by wizards. And of course you will be allowed to see your nephew. I will see to his transportation, and you can see him for the weekend. Expect him Friday night.  
_

_Severus Snape_

* * *

"Potter," Snape said, suddenly behind him after supper Saturday night.

"Yes, sir?" Harry asked, turning around to keep the man in his vision.

"I trust you have the extra potions you were to deliver to me?" He arched an eyebrow in silent understanding.

"Uh...yes, sir!" Harry said. "They're all brewed up, just still in the dormitory."

"Good," Snape said. "You need the extra credit, seeing what sort of abysmal grades you're getting in class. I want to see all of them on my desk by eight o'clock tonight. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. Snape nodded at him and stalked off.

* * *

Later, after supper, Harry found himself wandering up the staircases to the Gryffindor common room. He knew he had to give the sleeping potions to Snape. Snape wouldn't stand for anything less than every drop of it being handed over to him that night. But he didn't want to do it.

Just like every drug addict before me, Harry thought, and then winced at what his own mind told him. He sighed as he stepped into the common room, and then climbed to his dormitory. Thankfully, it was empty. He could just think for awhile without anyone interrupting. Harry went over to his dressed and opened the drawer where he kept the potions. They clattered lightly as he stopped the drawer from falling out on the floor.

He wouldn't _have_ to give Snape all of it, a small voice told him. He could give him half of his stocks, say it was all of it, and then use the rest. He might even be able to continue to make it if he was sneakier about it. He could continue just the way he had since the middle of first term. The idea sounded very tempting as he stood there watching the bottles. Then suddenly he realized that watching them wasn't going to make them do any tricks. He rolled his eyes at himself.

He was being stupid. Snape was right. Taking the dreamless sleep every night like that was hurting him. Not only physically but psychologically as well. He was being a coward, hiding behind potions. And in that moment, before he lost his nerve, he scooped up the bottles and dropped them in his school bag. Harry ran down the dormitory steps.

"Where are you off to?" Ron demanded as Harry rushed past him.

"Getting those extra credit potions to Snape!" Harry called back. Then Harry disappeared through the portrait without waiting for a reply.

"He's really got extra credit potions?" Ron whispered to Hermione. "Since when does he do extra credit potions?" She shrugged, and Ron looked bewildered.

Harry, on the other hand, hadn't stopped running once he left the common room, but thankfully no one was around to see this horrible display of manners. He was determined to get those potions to Snape before he turned back and began to use them again. It was strange, he realized, the feeling of liberation he was getting from his decision. But that was until he realized that he'd have to suffer through his nightmares without it. He slowed his pace to a walk, and placed his hand protectively over his bag. He suddenly felt rather nervous about handing it over to Snape.

His moment of bravery was over, he realized. And then he felt like kicking himself. He was a Gryffindor, for crying out loud! He could do whatever he wanted because he had the nerve to do anything. Resolutely, he walked on a little farther. Then he heard someone move behind him and he whirled.

"Made your decision, I see?" Snape said and stepped from the shadows.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied with more confidence than he felt. Snape nodded at him, and Harry got the impression that Snape knew everything that had gone through his mind. All the doubt and unsureness, the reluctance, and even reminding himself that he was a Gryffindor. Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cloth bag and held it open. Wordlessly, Harry opened his own bag and began to put the concentrated potion into the other one.

"There's one thing I forgot to tell you," Snape said, once the potions were successfully transferred. "When you're dreaming, ask yourself how you got in that situation, or got to that place. If it's not a dream, you will know the answer. If it is a dream, you won't be able to answer it at all, and your dream will come crumbling down around you."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, looking at the ground. He felt ashamed of his fear of the nightmares, and apparently it showed on his face.

"It's alright to be scared," Snape said quietly, after glancing around to see that no one could hear them. "Just don't let the fear possess you. It's something Gryffindors are rather good at. Use it." And Snape turned and walked away abruptly.

Harry almost smiled as Snape walked away in his usual blustery manner, cape billowing behind him. The awkwardness that Snape gave off was humorous, he realized. Snape was out of his depth, dealing with him, and Harry actually found he liked throwing the man off a bit. He also turned and returned to his dormitory. No one was in the room, so Harry grabbed his book, _Quiddish Throughout the Ages_, and absentmindedly opened his dresser drawer. When he didn't hear the familiar tinkle of glass, he remembered.

"Blast," he hissed, and quietly closed his drawer. He didn't want to sleep without his potion, but he knew he would have to. As much as he would have just spent the night awake, he knew he couldn't continue that, and escaping sleep tonight would just make his position worse later on. He opened up his books as he lay on his bed and tried to read, but found that he couldn't concentrate. His mind kept wandering back to the potions he didn't have. Perhaps he should make some more. No, his better mind called back, that would defeat the purpose, because he really did need to kick his addiction. He still winced as he called it that.

He slammed his book closed, and just then, Ron stepped in. Harry swung his legs out and sat on the bed as he tossed the book into the trunk at the foot.

"Upset about something?" Ron asked.

"Not at all," Harry said, faking sincerity.

"Really now," Ron replied. Harry didn't respond.

"I'm going to bed," Harry finally announced, as he quickly changed clothes for the night, and crawled under the covers. He curled into a fetal position and brought the covers close to his face, subconsciously trying to block out the rest of the world.

His mind was racing as he knew this was his first night in months without anything to block out his dreams. He was terrified, even though his rational mind tried to tell him that they were only dreams. That he had nothing to fear. But it didn't help bring down his anxiety. Finally, he began to try to focus his mind on other things and clear it like Snape had told him all those Occlumency lessons ago. Before he knew it, he was in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness.

_Harry was immediately whisked off to Private Drive. His head exploded with dreams that had been suppressed for months. Vernon dragged him to the bedroom and threw him against the bed. He began to whimper and cry, unable to fight his situation. Not again, he prayed. He wished he were dreaming. That recalled a memory, a vague one, of Snape. Snape told him how to tell if it were a dream or not. Harry immediate began looking around the room. The pictures were on the wall, and the furniture was in place. Everything seemed perfect._

_Then, as though he were getting to close to something important, Vernon pulled him onto the bed and blocked his vision of the room. He began to undress Harry, who whined some more. Now he couldn't examine his surroundings anymore. How had he gotten into this situation in the first place? Wasn't he supposed to be at Hogwarts? Why wasn't his school a protection for him?_

_Vernon had dragged him into the bedroom, he began to tick off in his head, and before that he'd been downstairs just minding his own business. Before that - before that where had he been? Reality just started. This was a dream. He'd found proof that it was a dream._

_"Wake up!" his dream self-called._

And Harry sat up with a start, drawing his wand instinctively. It had worked. Snape's lucid dreaming advice had worked! He was more tired than when he'd gone to sleep, but he'd avoided the nightmare and the potion. Maybe as he got better at this, it wouldn't wear him out so much to fight the dream. As he caught his breath, he noticed a figure move in the dark.

"You alright, Harry?" Ron whispered.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?" Harry whispered back.

"You were having a nightmare," Ron said. "And you were - well you were begging someone to leave you alone. You've never had nightmares. Is Snape treating you alright?" Blast, he'd forgotten the silencing spell. Every night, without fail, he'd cast that spell over his bed, and then the first time his routine got disrupted, of course he'd forget the spell!

"Yeah, Snape's fine," Harry said. "It's just Voldemort."

"Okay," Ron said. "Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

Severus easily procured a piece of Potter's hair, and dropped it into a mud brown potion. It sizzled for a moment, and then turned a murky blue. Essence of Potter, he thought. If you had told him a month ago he would voluntarily drink such a thing, he would have told you to report yourself to St. Mungo's mental facility. After making an appropriate face, Severus knocked the potion back and swallowed it in one go. It tasted as expected - terrible.

In a few moments, Severus felt his body morph into Potter's slimmer, smaller body. After checking in a mirror that all had gone well, Severus cast a notice-me-not charm, and slipped out of his chambers and onto the castle grounds. Once he was beyond the wards, he apparated to Private Drive. Was Vernon Dursley in for a surprise!

It was evening of Friday night, as he had promised. Dursley would be expecting the boy. Trying to assume Potter's mannerisms, Severus-Potter knocked on the door. In a moment, it opened to reveal the whale of a man that so regularly abused Potter. Severus-Potter had to use every ounce of self-control to not sneer at him. Unconsciously, Severus-Potter's hand moved toward his pocket where he felt his wand.

"Come in, Harry," Dursley said, stepping aside. Severus-Potter, faking meekness, did as instructed. "So good of that Snape fellow to let me see you again. You know he didn't offer any argument at all for not letting you come here."

"I know," Severus-Potter said stiffly.

"Why did they let him adopt you anyway?" Dursley continued. "You didn't say anything, did you?"

"I need to use the loo," Severus-Potter said abruptly, guarding his eyes as he thought Potter would do, and he slipped away quickly. Once the door was closed, Severus-Potter slipped another vial of polyjuice potion out of his pocket and drank it down. Quickly, he transformed back into himself. It was the fastest way to undo a transformation - to make one of yourself. He'd never done it before, and his only thought was that "Essence of Snape" tasted very, very bitter. He tossed the bottle aside, and pulled out his wand, ready to make his debut to Dursley. He stepped out, and saw the man waiting for the person he believed to be his nephew.

"What - ? Who - ?" Dursley stammered stupidly.

"Severus Snape," he said as means of explanation as he leveled his wand at the man. "And I'm here to deal with you properly. Potter never willingly speaks of what happened between you, but I forced it out of him. And no one hurts Lily's child without answering to me. Is that understood?" He spoke in his most threatening tone of voice. It wasn't loud, but anyone who possessed even the slightest amount of self-preservation instinct knew to not cross up Severus Snape when he spoke that way. Dursley was clearly terrified.

"Just go," he said, trying to wave the stranger out the door.

"No," Severus barked back. "I'm going to see that something close to justice happens."

"What are you going to do?" Just as Dursley asked the question, and Severus was trying to formulate an answer, Severus' arm twinged. It was the kind of pain that signaled a Death Eater meeting - not an individual summons.

"I'm going to turn you into a bat and deal with you later," he said suddenly, and cast the spell. A very fat, black bat began to crawl towards him, squeaking madly. Severus picked him up and thrust him in his pocket. "And you'll be absolutely silent if you have any idea what's good for you," Snape continued. The chatter from his pocket stopped. And then Severus apparated, bat an all, to the Dark Lord's manner.

* * *

Severus sat, bored, as he listened to the drivel of his fellow Death Eaters. It wasn't anything important that was happening, and he would much rather have been sitting in his chambers grading papers. He would have rather have been talking to Potter, he suddenly realized. Oh, this was bad, if he'd rather talk to the boy than sit here listening to the meeting. Just went to show how bored he was. Of course he didn't show any of his true feelings on the meeting, because it would have been very inappropriate to be bored while his lord was speaking of this, that, and the next thing. So he appeared to be raptly interested. Silently, he wished for the meeting to be over. Generally when interesting things happened at a Death Eater meeting, they were bad things. So he wasn't hoping for interesting.

The bat in his pocket hadn't made a sound since having been given the warning. Apparently Dursley wasn't always as stupid as he looked.

"And lastly," the Dark Lord was saying to his group, "we have a guest." Severus almost visibly perked up at that. This was one of those bad interesting things. He hoped this wasn't about Dursley. But then if it was, he would have no problem turning the man over to the Death Eaters. "You may come in and make your case to the group." Well, not Bat-Man, Severus thought wryly. As much as he hated puns, they always did have a way of occurring to him. The doors of the room swung open, and a man in a cloak walked in. His face was obscured from Severus' view by the hood.

"Thank you," a familiar voice responded when the stranger stood only a few paces from the Dark Lord. Then the man turned and slowly lowered his hood. Hisses broke out from the crowd, and wands were drawn.

"Now, now," the Dark Lord said in his soothing tone of voice, "wands away. Let him speak." His Death Eaters complied. Severus gazed in shock on the man in their midst.

"What are you doing here, Black?" he asked. Black looked at him and appeared almost sorrowful.

"You're a spy," he announced, and Black glanced nervously over the crowd. There was a low murmuring.

"Of course I am!" Severus said, standing and marching to the front of the room where he stood opposite to Black. "If you've come here to report something which is as well known as the weather, I would advise that you do it to a mentally incompetent audience!" The murmuring among the Death Eaters rose a notch.

"Perhaps I haven't made myself clear, Snape," Black continued. "You work for Dumbledore." Severus rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders dramatically.

"Of course I do! How do you think I would be a double agent if I didn't work for two opposed sides at the same time? Really, Black, your intelligence, or lack thereof, will never cease to astound me." Black made no immediate reply but slowly walked a full circle around Snape, looking him over carefully.

"You misunderstand me," Black said. "I said you _work_ for Dumbledore."

"And?"

"Dumbledore is the one you're loyal to. You're not loyal to him," he pointed at the Dark Lord, "or them," he waved an arm at the crowd of Death Eaters. "You're loyal to the headmaster."

"Prove it," Severus hissed at him. "You can't prove my loyalties one way or another."

"Harry," Black said, and Severus involuntarily took a step back. It took only a moment, and Severus regained himself.

"What about Potter?" he sneered.

"You adopted him," Black accused. Then he turned to the Death Eaters. "Your spy adopted the Boy-Who-Lived! Is that what one loyal to you would do? Is it?" The crowd was absolutely silent. A pin dropping could have been heard. "He didn't even tell you, did he?" Black whispered, though his voice carried. Severus looked beseechingly at his master. The Dark Lord only looked at him curiously. Then Severus glanced out over his comrades, scared of what he would see there. Bellatrix rose. She looked furious, no, murderous.

"Is this true, Severus?" she asked.

"It is true that I have adopted Potter," he spat, "but in no way am I loyal to Dumbledore." He made a face as though the very thought repulsed him.

"Then why did you adopt the boy?" Lucius asked. He seemed much calmer the Bellatrix, but no less dangerous.

"Dumbledore demanded it," he replied. "The old fool didn't believe that his relatives were good enough to him." There was a screech from his pocket, but he silenced Dursleys with firm slap to his pocket. "And, romantic that he is, he believes that I care for the boy because of the unfortunate childhood drama with Lily Evans." He was twisting facts, and outright painting the opposite image from the truth, but what else would a good spy, a good Slytherin, do? In reality, he knew it was his idea to take Potter in, and he did care for him because of his love for Lily. But he had to do everything in his power to discredit that. It felt like stabbing himself, though, to even say one word against Lily.

But a better concern was, why was Black standing opposite him at a Death Eater meeting? Why was Black trying to discredit him? Why was Black doing this? Severus certainly didn't know, but he suspected it might have to do with some misguided sense of love for Potter. His first thought was to blame the boy for not having explained the situation properly to Black, but then realized that Potter would probably have done the best job he could. In fact, Potter probably didn't know of anything his godfather had planned that night.

"Then will you hand the boy over?" the Dark Lord asked. Severus' mind was working as fast as it could trying to find some explanation.

"I can't, my lord," he said, hoping his voice was confident and quick enough to convince. "The boy is held within the safety of the castle. The wards prevent any teacher forcing a student off the grounds."

"Surely you can convince him to come with you willingly?"

"My lord," Severus said, stalling for time, "I have no plausible excuse to bring Potter off school grounds. He doesn't trust me, and would be suspicious if I asked for such a thing. Perhaps with the summer holidays, something can be arranged." Severus almost bowed, he wasn't sure out of fear or an act of respect, though he leaned towards the fear.

"Severus, Severus, my dear Severus," the Dark Lord murmured as he stepped close to the man. He reached out and with one finger brought Severus' gaze to his own. The only sign of a struggle was that Severus winced and closed his eyes. The Dark Lord had invaded Severus' mind and was tearing through memories and feelings never before revealed. Under normal circumstances, Severus was sure he wouldn't have broken. But with Black standing there accusing him of reality, he had a very difficult time keeping those thoughts from the forefront of his mind. When the Dark Lord released his mind, Severus gave a small gasp and looked helplessly around him. His master did nothing, said nothing.

"You said Dumbledore thought Harry's relatives didn't treat him right?" Black murmured to Severus.

"Congratulations," Severus sneered. "Your ears work. Halleluiah!"

"What did they do to him?" Black asked. "He never explained why he couldn't see me for Christmas except - that his relatives needed him." Severus plastered a blank look on his face, unwilling to give in to the torrent of words and facial expressions he could use to answer this question.

"I believe this one can answer your questions," Severus finally said, drawing the bat from his pocket and canceling the spell. Vernon Dursley stood before them. "He's the boy's uncle. Black, do with him what you will." Severus silently added that any fate a wizard could give him would be too good. Even though the two of them were enemies, Black seemed to understand the unspoken thought. He nodded curtly. The Dark Lord stood looking on, apparently amused. Severus knew he was a dead man. He was surprised his master hadn't cast the killing curse the moment he had finished viewing memories. But he didn't want to see Dursley go unpunished, and if Black would see to it for him, then so be it. At least the man could redeem himself in some small way.

"My lord," Severus said with a nod of his head. "If you will. I'm ready." He stood tall with his palms facing out, ready to take his death sentence. The Dark Lord simply raised a non-existent eyebrow.

"Take a seat, Severus," he said. Severus stood there dumbfounded for a moment, but then regained himself.

"Yes, my lord," he said, and immediately took his place among his peers. There were whispers and murmurings, but they were like flies buzzing to Severus. Whatever the other Death Eaters had to say was no where near as important as the simple order to sit. There were more things at work than Severus understood obviously. And that infuriated him, since he knew everything from both sides at every moment. But apparently he didn't.

Black and Dursley stood assessing each other wordlessly. Finally, with a flick of his wand, Black motioned Dursley to the door.

"You're not going to just let him walk away, are you, my lord?" Bellatrix objected when the two of them began to leave.

"Hush, Bella," the Dark Lord purred, and the woman calmed immediately. "Sirius," he continued, "are you sure you don't wish to join us? Surely anyone who would let an innocent rot in Azkaban for twelve years does not deserve that same man's loyalty."

"You let your own lot rot in Azkaban too," Black spat.

"Ah, but I rescued them as soon as I was able," the Dark Lord said silkily. "It was most unfortunate that any of them had to be there. But I did everything in my power to help them. Can you say the same of Dumbledore?"

"No," Black said. "And I'm not loyal to him."

"Then who are you loyal to?"

"No one," Black said offhandedly.

"You mean you're loyal to the Potter boy," the Dark Lord suggested. "Let me assure you, I offer him a fast and easy death. What does Dumbledore offer? He'll use the boy. Make him into a weapon, mold him. Does he even see Potter as a person? Will he give him the dignity of an honorable death?"

"I - I don't know," Black stammered. Severus wanted to slap his forehead. Couldn't Black see what the Dark Lord was doing? He was simply using Black's own motivators and desires to make the Death Eaters seem a better option. It was all the Dark Lord ever had done. The worst part was how good he was at it.

"Sirius," the Dark Lord continued. "Please, do consider. I will let you go as a sign of my good faith. You may interrogate this man, and when you have learned all you can, I want you to consider what sort of a fate Dumbledore gave your godson." Black just looked stiffly at him, and nodded mutely. Then he poked Dursley with his wand and the two left.

"Meeting dismissed!" the Dark Lord said. "You may all go home." Severus tried to creep to the back of the room to apparate when Bellatrix raised her voice.

"And Severus?" she asked. "What did you find?"

"That he is loyal," the Dark Lord said without missing a beat. Severus' jaw could have dropped on the floor. "Sirius Black is mad," he continued. "There is no truth in what he says. Yet he would be a valuable asset. Severus, do stay."

"Yes, my lord," he murmured with guarded eyes. Definitely a dead man. When all the others were gone, his master stepped over to him and eyed him as he walked circles around Severus. Severus tried not to flinch or give any sign of being uncomfortable.

"You and I both know what I saw tonight," the Dark Lord said eventually.

"Yes, my lord," he said, swallowing nervously.

"There is no need to call me your lord anymore, Severus," he instructed, morphing into Tom Riddle. Severus winced.

"The only mercy I ask for is that it be quick," he requested.

"Don't you understand, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked curiously. "I've known all along about your loyalties. You're more use to me alive than dead. It doesn't matter what side you're on. You're still a good whore." Severus gazed at the man before him in horror.

"So it's all been a waste," he murmured sorrowfully. "Everything I've ever endured. Everything was a total waste." He felt a tightening in his chest.

"Exactly," Tom said, as he pushed Severus against the wall.

* * *

**House points:**

Slytherin: 820

Ravenclaw: 515

Gryffindor: 115

Hufflepuff: 50


	9. Ashes to Ashes

**Just so everyone on is clear on this, this chapter starts the Sunday before where the last chapter ends. It's a non-linear story. Thank you!**

Harry work with a start the next morning. It was Sunday morning, and Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had successfully avoided his nightmares that night, but he woke up tired. Swinging his legs out of bed, he noticed that no one else was up yet. Well, that was their business, he figured. It wasn't like they had nightmares to hide from. He shrugged and changed into jeans and a hoodie before stumbling down the dormitory steps.

The lights were horribly bright, he realized as he put his hand in the way. Even then, he was still wincing to see. No one was up. Fine! He'd just go find someone else in some other part of the castle if all his housemates decided to sleep. But the light in the hallway wasn't any better. Harry focused his gaze on the carpet, where the light wasn't so bright, and found his way to the Great Hall.

There were a few people there, he was glad to find. One Gryffindor third year, two Ravenclaws, and a Slytherin. He didn't know any of them, but he sat down at the Gryffindor table anyway, careful to sit a healthy distance from the only other Gryffindor in the room. He didn't want to talk to her, but he didn't want to be clearly rude either. He put some food on his plate, set the serving spoon aside, and then looked up at the head table.

Snape was there, watching him intently. Alright, he grabbed the spoon again and plopped another scoop of hot cereal into his bowl. He could have sworn that Snape smirked at him. Harry made a subtle face at the man, and began to eat. When he was halfway through the food, and his mind in an entirely different world, he heard someone clear his throat behind him. Harry turned, and saw Snape.

"Finally decided to pay the world around you your attention, Potter?" Snape drawled, but Harry could tell there was a slight difference in the tone. It wasn't quite as cold as it once would have been, and there was a slight note of amusement in his voice.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, scrambling to his feet, still nervous. He tried to meet Snape's eyes, but he found he couldn't. The lights were still too bright. So he settled for casting his eyes on the ground and hoping he didn't look guilty.

"I need to discuss those extra credit potions with you," Snape said. "They were awful enough that it might have to count against you." Harry raised an eyebrow discreetly, but didn't say anything. "My office, after you finish." And then the man left.

So after he finished, he darted down to Snape's office to see what was up. He had a pounding headache, and all he could think about was the way his heartbeat echoed in his skull. By the time he knocked on Snape's door, the sound felt like it was going to make his head explode.

"Come in!" Snape barked, and Harry winced, not at the words, nor the tone, but at the sound itself. He stepped in and closed the door quietly behind him. Thankfully, Snape always kept his chambers dimmed, so Harry finally could open his eyes fully.

"Drink this," Snape ordered as he thrust a potion into Harry's hands. Harry turned it over and looked at it. It was a thick silvery liquid. "If you think I'm trying to poison you, I would have done it long ago," Snape drawled.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It will make you feel better," Snape dodged.

"How do you know I'm not feeling good?" Harry continued.

"Because you can't stand looking into the light and you have a headache. Common withdrawal symptoms. Now drink it!" Without another moment's hesitation, Harry knocked the bottle back and swallowed it. Almost immediately, he felt better.

"Thank you," he said. Snape just nodded curtly. Harry looked around, unsure what to do. "It worked," he finally said.

"What did?" Snape asked.

"The lucid dreaming," Harry clarified. "It worked."

"That's good," Snape said. "It will be much better for you in the long run. Now go along. I'm sure your friends are wondering where you are."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled and left.

* * *

"Now, tell me what Snape was talking about," Sirius growled to a trembling Vernon Dursley. They were alone in Grimmauld Place, Friday night after they left the Death Eater meeting. Dursley made no motion to answer the question. "Tell me!" Sirius screamed as he slammed the over sized man into the wall.

Suddenly there was a screeching from the hallway. Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically and cast a charm to block out his mother's screaming.

"I have no idea what he was talking about," Dursley said with clenched teeth.

"Oh, yes, you do," Sirius chuckled, pointing his wand at Durlsey's throat. It wasn't that Sirius was amused. Not at all, and that was what made him all the more dangerous. "I might not like Snape - that's an understatement - I hate Snape, but he would never have adopted Harry and had you in his pocket if something wasn't going on!"

"I refuse to tell you anything," Dursley huffed. Sirius backed off. He looked resigned.

"Fine," he said. "Fine, you don't have to tell me anything." He left Dursley in the room and came back with two glasses with clear liquid which he set down. When Dursley didn't move to take the other one, Sirius motioned him with his hand.

"I'm not letting you go till you tell me, and you're not going to tell me, so it seems like you're going to be staying awhile," Sirius said, taking a seat as he cradled his glass. "Drink up."

"How do I know you haven't poisoned this?" Dursley asked, eying the glass skeptically.

"If I wanted to kill you, there are much more efficient means at my disposal," Sirius said. Dursley nodded, and drank the liquid. When it was finished, Sirius jumped up from his seat and set his glass aside, his own drink forgotten.

"There! You drank it!" he screamed triumphantly.

"So it was poisoned!" Dursley barked back.

"No!" Sirius smirked. "Truth serum. Why was Harry taken away from you?"

"I don't know for sure!" Dursley sneered.

"Take your best guess."

"Fine, I was using the freak." Sirius stopped, digesting what was just said.

"Using how?" he said warily, drawing his want again.

"As my whore, of course. Are you thick, man?" Sirius blinked in shock.

"If you didn't have that potion in your veins, I wouldn't believe you," he said. "How could you?" Sirius grabbed Dursley by his shirt front and slammed him into the wall to the rhythm of his words. "How - could - you?" Dursley made no reply, whether because he had none, or because of the force being inflicted upon him, Sirius didn't know. "You - I don't even have words for you!" Sirius took his wand and pointed it threateningly. "Any fate I can come up with for you is too good," he hissed, sounding a lot like Snape, he realized, but he was too angry to care. "You raped my godson!"

And with that, Sirius began firing every spell he could think of at Dursley who writhed on the ground.

"I should have you castrated!" Sirius screamed.

* * *

Harry was asleep in his dormitory on Friday night. His lucid dreaming had succeeded that week. Mostly. Once he was trapped in a dream so deeply that he couldn't break it. But his silencing charm had kept his room mates from knowing what was up.

_He was Voldemort. It was strange - and scary - because even as he was Voldemort, he still retained a bit of his Harry-consciousness. Snape was standing before him. More accurately, Snape was almost cowering before him. Almost. Snape looked resigned, but submissive._

_"You and I both know what I saw tonight," Harry said. No! Voldemort said it. Not Harry. Although it felt like he was saying it. Voldemort was very pleased. He was just thrumming with anticipation and a cruel delight.  
_

_"Yes, my lord," Snape said._

_"There is no need to call me your lord anymore, Severus," Voldemort-Harry said._

_"The only mercy I ask for is that it be quick."_

_"Don't you understand, Severus? I've known all along about your loyalties. You're more use to me alive than dead. It doesn't matter what side you're on. You're still a good whore." Harry felt his conscious reel in horror as he realized what it felt like he was saying._

_"So it's all been a waste. Everything I've ever endured. Everything was a total waste."_

_"Exactly."_

Harry forced himself to wake, and immediately slipped out of bed. This was one of those dreams that was real, he realized. He threw on his jeans and hoodie, left there for the morning, and threw his invisibility cloak about himself. Wand in hand, he slipped out of Gryffindor tower.

If his dream was true, Snape wouldn't be in his chambers. If it wasn't true, then Snape would probably be there. And if he were there, Harry realized, he'd certainly get the lecture of his life, but it would be worth it. As he hurried along, Harry imagined the scene.

_"Potter! What are you doing wandering the castle at this hour? Don't you know it's 3 in the morning?"_

_"Yes, sir. You see, I just had this dream..."_

_"You're awake now! Go back to bed."_

_"Yes, sir!"_

Harry would have smiled at his own image of Snape, sleepy eyed, scolding him from the doorway, but Harry was too convinced of his dream's reality to be inclined to smile at any fantasy he made up. When he got to Snape's door, he knocked quietly. Nothing happened. So Harry tried again. Still nothing.

"Alohomora," Harry whispered, and the door popped open. Harry slipped inside. Everything was pitch black. "Lumos," he whispered again and began to search Snape's chambers quickly. Without too much trouble, he found Snape's bedroom, and to his disappointment, but not to his surprise, Snape wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere to be found. So Harry decided that his dream had been reality.

So Voldemort knew about Snape being a spy. And he had been so happy about grinding Snape into the dirt with that knowledge. What killed Harry more than anything was that he knew that Snape was taking it hard. Just the look in the man's eyes was enough to know that. And Harry could only imagine what it would be like to discover that everything you'd suffered for countless years was turned to ashes in a moment.

He picked up a pinch of floo powder and cast a spell on it to take him wherever the last trip had been. Harry knew he was taking a chance with this, but perhaps the last place Snape had gone was wherever he was now. Harry didn't have to know where it was. If it was protected by a secret keeper, he wouldn't even have to be given the address. Because he didn't have to know the address.

Harry stepped into the fireplace, nervous, still covered in his cloak. Better to not let Voldemort know too much, he figured. He might not be able to get his general presence by the overgrown snake, but it might buy him a few moments, a few dear and precious moments. With a flare of green flames, Harry stepped out into a drear and cold stone room. It didn't take him a second and he assessed the situation.

Voldemort - or rather, Tom Riddle - was assaulting Snape. So engrossed was he, that he didn't notice the noise or the light from the floo. Riddle had Snape against the wall and was running his hands over his professor's bare chest. Snape had a dead look in his eyes. He'd given up, Harry realized. Snape must feel that there was nothing left for him to live for, or to fight for.

Harry wasn't going to let it happen to Snape again! If anything, Snape's resignation strengthened his determination. Harry aimed his wand carefully and whispered "Stupefy" but nothing happened. He shook his wand and tried again, but still there was no reaction. He needed to do something, and fast, he realized. Harry whipped his cloak off, revealing himself.

"Riddle!" he screamed, aiming his mysteriously useless wand at his mortal enemy. "Back off now!" Slowly, Riddle turned to face him.

"Harry Potter," he intoned, sneering. "Come to rescue Severus, I suppose?" Snape looked horrified.

"Potter, you fool," he said through gritted teeth.

"Leave him alone," Harry repeated, both his voice and his wand shaking. "Leave him alone, I'm telling you!"

"And what do you think you have that will convince me to do that?" Riddle said silkily. "Your wand is useless here. Just like lead stops muggle x-rays," Harry gave Riddle a shocked look, "yes, of course I know of them, but just like that, there are dampers on your magic here when I put them up. Anything but my magic. And unless you can somehow use my magic, then well, I'm sorry, but you're out of luck! So I ask you, what can you offer me?"

"Myself," Harry said, without missing a beat. He couldn't think of anything else. If Riddle wanted someone, it would be him, not Snape. Snape was actually more vulnerable than he was at the moment, Harry realized. They were both broken, but Snape was in shock. It wouldn't hurt him, Harry thought, if it happened just once more. It wasn't like he was going to get any more contaminated if it happened at the hands of Voldemort.

"Yourself?" Riddle asked skeptically. "Do you really mean that?"

"Potter!" Snape broke in, clearly panicking, yet sneering at the same time. "Get out of here!" Harry looked at Snape, and recognized the same protectiveness that he felt. He shook his head sadly. There was no way he could leave Snape now. Even if he wanted to, Voldemort would never let him go.

"I hardly can stop you, now, can I?" Harry snapped, his tone acerbic.

"Yet you suggest it," Riddle said, taking a step towards his newest prey. Harry didn't back off. Although he wanted to, backing off would only demonstrate that he understood the lack of control that he had. It would only demonstrate his fear.

"Only to protect him," Harry said, pointing a finger at Snape. "Do what you must to me, but leave him alone. He's suffered too much at your hands already."

"Is that really your decision to make?"

"What is my decision is how I conduct myself."

"And you have decided to give yourself to me, in exchange for that one?" Riddle pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at Snape.

"Yes," Harry said, very committed. "Leave him alone and I will give myself over to you."

"What is to stop me from taking you _and _him?"

"Nothing other than your word," Harry said. He hadn't counted on being unable to work magic, and he had no leverage against Voldemort now.

"Despite what some may say, I am an honorable enemy," Riddle was saying. "If those are the conditions you set forth, those are the conditions I will abide by. What love won't do. Truly, what a weakness love really is. How quickly you become my willing victim." Harry scoffed.

"If you think this is willing, obviously we have a different definition of unwilling!"

"Perhaps," Riddle dismissed, standing within a few inches of Harry. "The Boy-Who-Lived, handing himself over to me." He ran his fingers over Harry's scar and through his hair. Harry looked away and tried not to wince. He looked over at Snape, who was livid now. At least that horrible look of apathy was gone, Harry thought. But Snape needed to go before Voldemort changed his mind.

"Legillimens," Harry whispered so quietly that no one could hear. His mind brushed Snape's, and Snape opened up to him. Harry carefully imagined Snape leaving by means of the fireplace, and then pictured him sitting comfortably in his chambers, safe from Voldemort. Snape just sneered at him, and that, Harry realized, stung more than anything Riddle was doing to him at the moment.

"Your uncle taught you well, I see," Riddle said. "Not resisting at all." He began to disrobe Harry.

"How - ?"

"He broke my mind," Snape said bitterly. There was silence for a moment. "I'm sorry." Harry just nodded. Snape hadn't meant to reveal his secret.

"Just go, Snape!" Harry finally snapped, as Riddle ran his hands over his naked torso, causing his face to cringe. "Just go! Don't make this for nothing!"

"You've already made mine for nothing," Snape said, his eyes suddenly flashing. He stepped over to where his former master and his adoptive son were. "You should never have come! The least you could do is let me continue to protect you in some sort of a sick, twisted way!" Emotions were running high, Harry realized, because suddenly, Snape's voice lost its anger.

"Severus," Riddle said. "Don't you think you should do as the boy says? He did give himself up for you."

"He gave up the war for me!" Snape hissed. "Is that what you wanted, Potter? To condemn the world to whatever fate he assigns simply to save me once? I'm not worth that."

"I told you that anyone who knew and didn't do anything was just as guilty as Vol - I mean, Riddle," Harry said, still wincing under Riddle's ministrations. "Did you want me to bear that guilt too? Just go, already!" Harry averted his eyes from both Snape and Riddle as his abuser lowered him to the ground. Without ceremony, Riddle removed the rest of their clothes. He was too ashamed to look at either of them.

He had given up the war for Snape, he realized. He'd not thought of that. In trying so hard to do that right, noble thing, he had in fact made a horribly wrong choice. He silently cursed his own stupidity. Perhaps sometimes it was better to be a coward, he realized.

"Shall I be considerate?" Riddle asked as his hand crept around to Harry's backside. Harry shook his head. The more pain that was inflicted, the better, Harry figured. He just wanted - he didn't know what he wanted. He wanted Snape to leave. And he wanted his own agony to end. He wanted to forget this mistake - forsaking the world for one person.

"Leave him be, Tom!" Snape screamed, laying a strong hand on the man's shoulder, still trying to protect Harry. But he didn't react to Snape at all. "Leave him be!"

Harry's breath began to come in ragged gasps as he struggled against his own emotions which threatened to overwhelm him. The grief, the anger, the despair. Almost without realizing it, he reached out for something mentally. It was unfamiliar, and Harry grasped it with the strength of a drowning man.

He didn't know what happened, but the world exploded with noise and red. He sighed once, and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

When he came to in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, Harry's first reaction was to curl himself into a ball.

"If you think you're hiding from me," a familiar voice drawled, "then I'm afraid you'll have to use a more effective method." Slowly, Harry uncurled and saw his potions professor looking at him curiously. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.

"What happened?" Harry gasped, rubbing the back of his skull. He had a pounding headache and there was a lump there, so he must have hit his head on something.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Snape commented, taking a seat by Harry's bed. "Somehow, you worked magic in that room, despite the dampers. Do you have any idea how you did such a thing?"

"No, sir," Harry said. "I just - I mean, I felt something. It wasn't from me though. It was inside me, but it wasn't me. And I was desperate and then, well, I passed out."

"I see," Snape said. "How do you feel now?"

"Better than I've ever felt," Harry said sheepishly. Snape just nodded gravely.

"That was what I thought you would say."

"Will you just tell me what's going on?" Harry snapped.

"The Dark Lord is dead," he said simply. "You killed him, in that form. The question is how. You say there was a foreign presence in your mind, and the dampers would only allow the use of Riddle's magical signature. Therefore, it is only reasonable to assume that that presence in your mind was really the Dark Lord. You were able to use it against him, out of your desperation." Harry gave Snape an incredulous look. "Perhaps it would help if I explained a bit more." Snape sighed and began a discourse on the nature of dark magic, eventually ending with an explanation of horcruxes.

"The only thing that makes sense, Potter," he said, "is that you yourself were a horcrux. You purged yourself of it by using that piece of the Dark Lord's soul against him, and you also killed him in his flesh."

"So then - I didn't lose the war?"

"By whatever powers look down on us with favor, you didn't," Snape drawled. "But that doesn't make your actions any less foolish!"

"Is that why I was never able to block Riddle from my mind? Because he was already in it?"

"That is probable," Snape affirmed. "It is impossible to block someone who is already there." Harry nodded.

"So the war's over? We're finished? We're free?"

"Not quite," Snape said. "Don't forget that the Dark Lord may have had other horcruxes. Until they're all destroyed, he can always return."

* * *

**House points:**

Slytherin: 895

Ravenclaw: 575

Gryffindor: 135

Hufflepuff: 50


	10. The Calm Before the Storm

Harry stood nervously outside Dumbeldore's office. Snape had told him to wait there until he was called for. His professor was going to explain the previous day's occurrences to the Headmaster, and only get him when it was time. In some little way, Harry was miffed at being dismissed for this. Sure, it was an unpleasant enough experience for him that he didn't want to relive it, but he still had managed to save the wizarding world, and he wanted credit. The cost had been to high for him not to want credit.

Well, perhaps Snape just didn't understand. Harry still could hear the man saying "Fame isn't everything," in the back of his head. Sure, it wasn't. But it still didn't mean that he had to be left out of things.

* * *

What Harry didn't know was that Severus had had to pull a lot of strings already to get Potter released from the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey hadn't wanted to let him out that day - Saturday, the day after the second fall of Voldemort, which was still as of yet, widely unknown - and in return for letting him out at all, Severus had agreed to keep an extra close eye on the boy, and make sure that he didn't go through any shock or trauma for at least two more days.

So he had left Potter outside the office while he explained to the Headmaster. Severus wasn't even sure how he was going to start explaining. He couldn't simply walk in and announce, "The Dark Lord is dead!" and walk out. Yet no matter how he thought, he couldn't come up with a better idea. Severus shrugged internally and figured the words would come when he needed them. They always did.

"Good day to you, Albus," Severus said with a polite nod of his head.

"Hello, Severus," Albus said, clearly curious as to what would cause his most reclusive teacher to seek him out on a Saturday afternoon. "Do have a seat. And a caramel?"

"I prefer to stand, and no," Severus said. "Though I appreciate the change from the usual lemon drop." Albus chuckled.

"And what puts you in such a good mood?" the Headmaster quipped. Severus arched an eyebrow.

"There were noteworthy occurrences last night," he said. "Some of which you will be interested in."

"So you come here as spy, not teacher," Albus said.

"Yes, Albus," Severus said. "And father."

"Oh?" the man asked, still curious.

"Did you know that Potter was a horcrux?"

"I had my suspicions," he said. "You have proof?"

"I have proof that he is no longer," Severus said. Albus' eyes grew wide.

"Then - " Albus said. "Then he is - ?"

"If you're asking after his welfare, he lives," Severus dismissed. "Though certainly no thanks to you."

"How - ?"

"The Dark Lord is dead," Severus announced. "Potter used the power of the horcrux against him last night, and both those parts of Tom Riddle were destroyed."

"What, in the name of Merlin, was Harry doing last night?" Albus finally asked, sounding confused and exasperated.

"That, Headmaster," Severus said, raising an eyebrow again, "is classified information. Suffice to say that I was at a meeting, and Potter panicked. As is the way with Gryffindors, his legs ran before his head thought and he found himself in a confrontation."

"Severus," Albus said with sudden empathy.

"I don't need your pity!" Severus growled. "And I don't need Potter's protection either! Much as he might believe that he's the best there is, I can still take care of myself."

"You don't really think that," Albus said.

"What don't I really think?" Severus challenged.

"That Harry has an inflated self-esteem." Severus paused for a moment before giving one curt nod.

"You're right, I don't think that," he finally admitted. "But this leaves the possibility of the Dark Lord having left other horcruxes. Until they're all destroyed, I'm not free, and Potter isn't safe. The war isn't over, even if the battle has been won."

"Of course, Severus," Albus sighed, lacing his fingers. "It would seem that you intend to see after these horcruxes yourself?" Severus nodded.

"I have the will and the ability. I also have the right."

"So be it," Albus said. "You've never been one to be persuaded by anyone once your mind was made up."

"I know," Severus muttered. Then, in a stronger voice, "Do not be concerned if Potter and I are absent over weekends."

"Why Harry? Surely that's exposing him to more dangers than necessary. If he were to simply stay here - "

"Albus Dumbledore," Severus intoned, "you have no idea. There are many things you don't know, and will never know. I do know what's best for Potter, even if you question my judgement."

"I don't question your judgement, Severus," Albus said kindly. "But you adopted him to keep him away from his relatives and their apparent abuse. If you're sure that hunting horcruxes is appropriate therapy..."

"I'm sure that ignoring the boy is not appropriate therapy!" Severus snapped. "As I said, you don't know. Leave the decisions to me."

"I will," Albus promised.

"Then a good day to you," Severus nodded and left the room. He paused outside the door and looked down his nose at Potter who looked up hopefully at him. He gave into his first instinct to sneer at the boy and Potter's smile faded quickly.

"Come," Severus said. "My office. I need to speak with you privately. Take a different route than I am, or it will look suspicious."

"Yes, sir," Potter said.

* * *

A few minutes later, Harry stood at Snape's office door and knocked for admittance. With a quiet creek, the door opened and Harry stepped inside nervously. He hadn't liked the way Snape had looked at him before ordering him to his office. Harry wasn't sure why Snape was so - Snape-ish - today. He'd killed Voldemort, hadn't he? He'd saved Snape, hadn't he? Then why was the man being so curt with him?

"Finally arrived, I see," Snape drawled. "Well, have a seat." Not put at ease by Snape's words, Harry did as instructed, eyes locked onto Snape's face. After a moment of silence, Harry decided he should say something.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, almost breathless. "You seem annoyed, and whatever I did, well, I guess I'm sorry. You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape said. "And you can stow the apologies. It's simply your foolish actions last night. By every right, you should be dead today and the Dark Lord should reign supreme. By some divine intervention, it is not so. Yet, we need to seek after the rest of his horcruxes. Until that is done, neither of us are safe, you realize that, do you not?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, playing with his hands nervously. Snape rose and rounded his desk, gazing at Harry sitting just inches from him. Suddenly, Snape's hand shot out and pulled Harry's right hand closer for inspection.

"What - ?" Harry stammered.

"What is right," Snape said, sounding interested and curious. "And what is that on the back of your hand?"

"That? Oh, that's nothing..." Harry stammered. "Really, it's nothing, just a burn."

"A burn which reads 'I must not tell lies'? Unless you wish to insult my intelligence, I advise you tell me the truth."

"Fine," Harry muttered under his breath. "Umbridge gave me detention worse than yours and made me write lines with a blood quill. Happy?" Snape's thumb nail dug into the back of Harry's hand.

"Don't speak to me like that," Snape warned. "Why didn't you speak with McGonagall?"

"Because I didn't want to let Umbridge know she'd gotten to me." Snape sniffed in indignation.

"Corporal punishment has not been allowed at Hogwarts for years," Snape commented.

"Yeah, well 'not allowed at Hogwarts' obviously doesn't mean anything to that old toad."

"Under usual circumstances I would be outraged that you would refer to any professor in such disrespectful terms."

"But you think she's an old toad too," Harry accused.

"I would not wish to insult toads." Harry laughed quietly as Snape released his hand. "Do not let her do that to you again."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"In the meantime, I will try to discover the most likely artifacts that the Dark Lord would have used for horcruxes. Dismissed, Potter."

"Yes, sir, thank you," Harry said as he rose and left the room.

* * *

"Harry! Is it true?" Hermione hissed as he entered the common room. Every Gryffindor there stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Only Ron and Hermione made any move to approach him though. Harry almost smiled at her, but didn't answer. She pulled him into a corner with Ron. The others began their excited, quiet chatter.

"Well?" Ron prompted excitedly.

"What?" Harry asked.

"You-Know-What," Hermione said. "Is You-Know-Who really - ?"

"Yeah," Harry said, a genuine smile creeping over his feature. "Yeah, he is. Last night. It was kinda an accident."

"How?" Ron asked breathlessly.

"I sort of flooed into the aftermath of a Death Eater meeting, I guess," he said, shrugging. "And there was a bit of a struggle, but by the end, well, somehow he was dead and I wasn't." He quickly explained about the horcruxes, careful to leave out any parts of the story that would have caused his friends to question Snape's involvement in the whole incident. He suspected that Hermione knew there was more to story, but he also knew that she would understand that that was a part of the story to which she would not be welcome.

"So you and Snape, you're going to go hunt these things?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Harry shrugged. "Snape's just being Snape. He's not really telling me a whole lot."

"Of course," Ron snorted.

"I don't think he knows a whole lot about what's going on either," Harry offered.

"Stop with the first 7 words," Ron chuckled, and Harry and Hermione laughed quietly as well.

"How had you guys heard?" Harry asked.

"The Slytherins were whispering about it, especially Malfoy."

"Yeah, I guess they'd be some of the first to know," Harry conceded.

"The rumor is all over the school now. Some of the theories that have been proposed! Oh!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, rummaging in her pocket. "I got this passed to me today by Professor McGonagall. It's for you, Harry." She handed him a bit of parchment, sealed with wax, and Harry opened it.

_He's dead. He'll never hurt you again, Harry._

_Snuffles_

"How does he know?" Harry immediately asked the air around him. After all, Snape had just told Dumbledore about Voldemort's death. How could Sirius had known already, and why did he think this message was necessary? Harry shrugged and shoved the parchment into his pocket, happy for once that his weekend had been productive. And it was only Saturday.

* * *

_**Okay, I'm REALLY REALLY sorry I haven't updated in...well...forever. Don't kill me! I kinda ran into a wall at the end of the last chapter because I found I couldn't remember nearly enough about books 5-7 to properly write it. I'm midway through 5 at this point. I know the chapter's short but it's all I could put together right now and I didn't want to keep you in suspense too much longer without my all-important author's note.**_

_**If anyone has plot suggestions, please, I need them.**_

**House points:**

Slytherin: 980

Ravenclaw: 625

Gryffindor: 150

Hufflepuff: 50


End file.
